Rough Wrangler, Tender Kisses Read online

  Here in this secluded spot, the water flowed gently, looking cool and inviting. Wildflowers grew in bright profusion and the willow where Star was tethered swayed gracefully in the breeze. It was perfect, Caitlin thought with satisfaction as she left her riding skirt and white linen blouse folded neatly on top of a tree stump—and far enough from the house so that no one would disturb her.

  She peeled off her stockings, set them beside her soft kid boots, and tiptoed into the water, clad in only her chemise.

  “Oooh!” she gasped in surprise, for despite the warm day, the stream water was icy cold. But she drew in a deep breath and waded farther, letting the water rise around her hips. She ducked down, immersing her breasts and shoulders, letting her pale hair flow free. The sun above burned hot—she expected it would dry her soon enough when she emerged, but the cold water felt good against her skin.

  The shock of it drove all her problems—even Wade Barclay—from her mind.

  But not for long. As she splashed and swam, his lean, rugged image returned to her mind. Again she felt the strength of his arms around her, the hot branding of his kiss.

  And then she remembered the sight of him kissing Luanne.

  You don’t need him. Or want him. He cares nothing for you, just as Alec cared nothing for you. He’s a two-timing cad, arrogant as they come, and no different from the rest. Remember what Mrs. Casper said? Never fall in love with a cowboy. Well, what do you think Wade Barclay is? she demanded of herself, her teeth chattering as she dunked her head in the water in hopes that the crystal droplets would wash away every vestige of foolishness in her brain.

  Of course he had saved her life. He had saved her from the rustlers, and defended her against that awful Otter Jones. But she mustn’t think about that. None of it mattered. He was bullheaded and infuriating—not to mention untrustworthy. Oh, but she pitied Luanne. That girl had no idea how insincere those long, deep kisses actually were.

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear the cold any longer. She edged toward the streambank, stubbed her toe on a rock hidden in the currents, and swore a blue streak as she clambered out. Heavens, it was cold. The sun wasn’t quite as warm yet as she’d hoped it would be. Gasping, she scurried across the grass to the tree stump, eager for the warmth of her clothes, then stared down in stupefaction.

  The tree stump was bare.

  Standing there dripping wet in her chemise, which clung icily to every damp curve and hollow of her body, Caitlin’s mouth dropped open. She peered frantically around the clearing—but saw only her boots. And Star, and the wildflowers, and a squirrel hidden in the leaves of the cottonwood nearest her.

  But there was no sign of her skirt, blouse, or stockings. Every last stitch of her clothing had vanished.

  “Dawg! What the hell have you got there?”

  Wade eyed the black dog ambling toward the corral, his ears pricked upward, his tail happily wagging. Beside him, Nick gave a guffaw.

  “Damned if it isn’t a lady’s clothes!” Jake Young, who’d just mounted up, stared down at the pile of clothing Dawg dropped right in front of Wade.

  “What the hell.” Wade grinned as the animal sat on his haunches, looked up hopefully, and thumped his tail on the ground as if expecting high praise. “Where’d you get these, you thievin’ coyote?”

  But he already knew the answer. He’d seen the dog trotting up from the direction of the stream, and he knew exactly what he’d find there, somewhere down along the bank. Wiping the grin from his face and plastering on a frown instead, he scooped up the blue cotton skirt and the lace-trimmed blouse—and the delicate stockings—and ignored his brother’s unabashed grin.

  “Reckon she’ll freeze to death if you don’t bring ’em back to her pronto,” Nick remarked gravely.

  “I’ll do it, boss,” Jake Young cut in. “You and Nick were just about to head out, so I don’t mind—”

  “You were the one about to head out,” Wade interrupted him evenly. “Check the south pasture and then meet up with Miguel. If I sent you down to return these to Miss Summers, you’d lollygag the whole damn day away—reciting poetry and chomping on cookies.”

  Jake turned two shades redder than his neckerchief as Nick burst out laughing. “Aw, hell, Wade, no, I wouldn’t—”

  “Get moving.” Wade tucked the clothes under his arm, ignoring the crestfallen expression on the wrangler’s face as he stalked toward the stream.

  “Think you’ll need any help keeping the lady warm?” Nick called after him, a chuckle in his throat.

  “That’ll be the day, little brother,” Wade shot back over his shoulder before quickening his steps toward the long belt of trees that lined the streambank.

  His boots crunched through the tall grass as he rounded a thicket and emerged near the water’s edge.

  There was no sign of Caitlin there, so he veered to the right and kept going. Dawg suddenly appeared, prancing alongside, the picture of an obedient companion.

  “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” Wade tried to sound cross, but he was strangely looking forward to the encounter about to take place.

  He spotted Caitlin before she saw him, less than a quarter of a mile downstream. She was just reaching out to untether her mare in a small, flower-bedecked clearing.

  She wore nothing but a thin ivory chemise edged in lace, her streaming pale hair falling in riotous wet tangles down her slender back, and she carried a pair of lavender kid boots clutched in one hand. The lovely shape of her— the high, taut breasts and slender waist and those long, sleek legs shimmering with water droplets—made him stop in his tracks. She might have been a sea goddess, all golden hair and ivory skin and chiseled crystal features. Wade’s throat went dry and he felt a heavy searing ache in his loins.

  She saw him then. Her shriek, he reckoned, could have been heard in Laramie. She dropped her boots and whirled around and splashed back into the stream, dipping down so low in the water that only her head remained above the surface.

  “G-give those back!” she demanded, pointing a shaking finger at her clothes. “How d-dare you take them!”

  “Now why in hell would I take them?” He strolled forward as nonchalantly as he could, despite the damned aching desire jolting through him, a desire that heated up even further as he studied her flushed face and fiery green eyes as she bobbed just above the water’s surface.

  “Because you . . . you thought it would be funny. A j-joke!”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  “Y-yes, you . . . do!” Those vivid eyes had darkened with fury. “Now put them down and get the hell away from here. I’m f-freezing to death and you don’t even care!”

  His amusement faded as he suddenly noticed how her teeth were chattering. She was shivering all over. “Come out of that water, Caitlin.” His tone was sharp, the same commanding tone that made his wranglers jump to follow his orders. “Right now.”

  “Not until you l-leave. Just put them back on that t-tree stump and g-go.”

  “Believe it or not, princess, I’ve seen half-naked women before.”

  “Not this half-naked woman!”

  Exasperation tore through him. “I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and argue with you.” He tossed her clothes down on the grass and strode forward into the stream. Even as she shrieked again and tried to dodge away, he seized her and dragged her toward him, then scooped her into his arms.

  “Let . . . m-me g-go!”

  Before she finished the last word he had reached the bank and dropped her to her feet. “It’s spring, you nitwit. Only a tenderfoot would brave the stream this early in the morning at this time of year!”

  “Only a t-toad would steal a woman’s clothes while she’s swimming!” Gasping, Caitlin snatched up her blouse in quivering, frozen fingers. “T-turn around.”

  “I didn’t do it—it was Dawg.”

  “T-turn around!”

  Gritting his teeth, Wade obeyed. She had to be the stubbornnest female on this earth. But he’d glimpsed her
in that chemise that clung to her like a filmy second skin and he could barely keep from groaning with thoughts of what he’d like to do to warm her up. He threw a stick for Dawg, who’d been prancing around Caitlin as she struggled into her garments and fought against the almost impossibly powerful temptation to turn around before she’d donned those prim, pretty clothes.

  Dawg chased off after the stick, barking, and Wade glanced around to find her trying to fasten up the shirt with hands that shook so much she couldn’t close the buttons.

  “Here, let me,” he said with rough impatience.

  Deftly, he closed the top button, then the one beneath it. His muscles were taut as his hand brushed between her breasts. He felt like a schoolboy who’d never touched a girl.

  “I . . . can do it . . .” she said breathlessly.

  He pushed her shaking fingers aside. “The hell you can.”

  Caitlin remained motionless, except for the shivering, as he fastened all the buttons for her. She was cold, so cold. She’d never imagined Dawg would steal her clothes and never imagined the stream would be quite that frigid. When Wade stripped off his own big flannel shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders, she gave a gasp of relief for the added warmth.

  Then, without warning, he drew her close against him, warming her against his body. She melted into those iron arms, and nestled against the solid warmth of his bare chest. Heat radiated from his brawny body to her slender one, waves of heat that were as powerful and comforting as he was. She trembled as they flowed through her, along with a complete sense of safety—and something else.

  A spark of heat, of pure fire, that had nothing to do with flannel shirts, and everything to do with this heartpoundingly handsome man who always showed up when she needed him. This man whose gaze could be hard, but also unspeakably gentle, whose touch seemed to ignite both her temper and her heart.

  She found herself clinging to him, her body fitting effortlessly against his, even as she knew she should be pulling away.

  Wade’s hands stroked up and down her back with sure, soothing motions and every last impulse to flee ebbed away right along with her common sense.

  Caitlin’s heart was thudding in rhythm with her racing pulse. It felt too good to be this close to him. Dangerously good.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “We should go . . . back to the house.”

  “Yeah?” His arms tightened, and his hands kept stroking her back. “Who says?”

  “You know . . . we should. Right . . . now,” she said as forcefully as she could, but her words came out in a soft whisper, not at all in the determined tone she’d intended.

  He knew she was right. But it didn’t matter. Holding her like this was having a strange effect on him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me, Caitlin. I’m not going to bite.”

  For a moment she was filled with a joyous pleasure at the gentle way he’d spoken her name, but then a most unwelcome thought intruded into her mind: Does he speak Luanne’s name the same way?

  “Let’s go back.” She pulled out of his arms and saw his eyes narrow.

  For a moment she thought he was going to argue with her, or even try to hold her or kiss her again. His gaze dropped to her white, trembling lips and lingered there a moment. She sensed the tension in him, and felt an ache deep within herself. For one wild moment she almost reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. Madness!

  But then he nodded and spoke in a quiet tone. “Whatever you say, Miss Summers.” He started toward Star. “Come on.”

  By the time she was settled in dry clothes before a fire in the parlor, with a cup of steaming sweetened coffee before her and a blanket Francesca had brought wrapped around her, Caitlin was thinking much more clearly. When Wade came into the room, wearing a clean plaid shirt, and dry pants and boots, his Stetson on his head, she was able to smile quite calmly at him and thank him for bringing back her clothes.

  “And I suppose I should apologize for accusing you of stealing them,” she said formally. “I’m sorr—”

  “No need to apologize.” His tone was as calm, steady, and even as always, but she sensed something different in the way he was looking at her. He no longer seemed to be regarding her with anger or resentment, as he usually did. He actually smiled at her, Lord help her, a smile that made every nerve in her body tingle.

  “Right now I’m late to a meeting at the Tyler ranch. It concerns the patrols our Cattlemen’s Association is setting up just in case the rustlers return—I’ll fill you in on it later. During your shooting lesson.”

  “What shooting lesson?”

  His diamond-blue eyes gleamed. “The one you’re getting this afternoon. You and me. Right after lunch. Then we’ll head into town.” He tipped his hat at her and turned toward the door. “Meet me at the corral, Caitlin, and be ready to ride.”

  He strode out before she could argue or refuse.

  By the time she was ready to meet him Caitlin was convinced that there was something very suspicious going on. Wade was being entirely too nice to her. He hadn’t scolded her all that much about swimming in the cold stream, he hadn’t called her princess even once, and now he was going to give her shooting lessons?

  So when she met him at the corral, with the hot sun blazing overhead in a burning turquoise sky, she wore a pale gray cotton riding skirt, a puffed sleeve yellow peasant blouse, and a layer of crisp, no-nonsense armor.

  “Wait just a minute,” she said as he rode up. Ignoring her, he dismounted from his horse and came toward her, ready to help her mount Star.

  Caitlin pushed his hand away as he reached out to take her arm. “First tell me why you’re so set suddenly on teaching me to shoot.”

  “Because I thought it over, and if you’re going to be sticking around, you’ll need to know how to defend yourself.”

  I need to defend myself against you, Caitlin wanted to shout, but instead she shrugged. “I won’t be sticking around that long.”

  “Long enough.”

  “But . . . I don’t understand. If the rustlers have already been driven off and are going to be tracked down and arrested by your brother, where is the danger?”

  He spoke patiently, as if to a child. “This is untamed country still—rustlers or no. It’s important to always be prepared. That’s rough wilderness out there—you could run into snakes, bears—and human varmints as well.” Wade was glad Otter Jones was dead and no longer a threat to Caitlin, but he knew that any stranger she encountered alone could be dangerous.

  “Course there’s no need for shooting lessons if you want to arrange always to be accompanied by me or one of the wranglers when you go to town or out riding—”

  “I don’t.”

  He pushed his hat back on his head. The sun illuminated the blue-black sheen of his hair as he met her gaze. “Then I reckon you’ll have to learn how to fire that shotgun properly and how to hit what you aim at.”

  “Very well.” Caitlin reached out a hand and stroked Star’s mane. “I’ll learn. But I don’t want you to teach me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we don’t get along.” Her eyes dared him to contradict her. When he didn’t, she continued briskly. “And because Nick is a gunfighter—he must know all about guns. He can teach me.”

  “Nick’s busy right now, renewing an acquaintance with some ladies who work in the saloon.”

  “Oh. Oh.”

  He smiled in amusement at the quick blush that entered her cheeks.

  “Well, then, tomorrow . . .”

  “Tomorrow, he’s leaving. At first light.”

  “Then Miguel or Jake or Dirk—”

  He reached out, cupped her chin, held her captive with the sudden gleam in those diamond-blue eyes. “Do you always have to argue with me about everything?”

  “I don’t argue with you about everything.”

  Wade chuckled. “See what I mean?”

  His touch was firm, but gentle. If she hadn’t been on her guard, if she hadn’t exp
erienced what she had with the men in her past, if she hadn’t seen him kissing Luanne Porter, she might have found herself susceptible to the very potent male charm that emanated from him. If . . . if . . . if . . .

  “All right, then, you may teach me,” she said quickly, her breath catching in her throat. “But starting tomorrow I’ll be riding to town alone to post my letters to Becky.”

  “Let’s just see how you do today.”

  “You think I can’t learn to shoot in one afternoon?”

  “Oh, I think you can learn how to shoot all right.” He released her, and stepped back, grinning. “Only question is, can you hit anything you aim at?”

  Caitlin’s eyes darkened to the hue of a storm-tossed sea. Charm? The man had about as much charm as a skunk.

  “You just watch and see,” she bit out between clenched teeth. And turning with a swish of her skirt, she led Star to the corral fence, and used it to mount without any help from Wade Barclay.

  She suddenly wished she had a large photograph of Cloud Ranch’s foreman—to use for target practice.

  Chapter 15

  Wade chose a spot deep in the foothills for her lesson. It was open, quiet, filled with goldenrod and buttercups. There was an old scarred pine tree close by, its leaves sighing in the breeze.

  “That’s what you’re going to shoot at,” Wade told her, and then showed her how to load the shotgun, how to hold it braced against her shoulder, how to work the safety.

  He was a patient teacher, Caitlin had to admit. She tried hard to be a disciplined pupil.

  But it wasn’t precisely easy to concentrate. The day was soft and lovely, the man close beside her with his arm around her waist, his hand steadying her grip, was too handsome, too . . . male.

  And far too distracting.

  She did learn how to adjust her sights for the kick of the shotgun, how to aim, how to squeeze the trigger just so. Once she even hit the side of the tree. But only once.

  It was frustrating, not only because she couldn’t aim better, but because his arms around her reminded her too sharply of the night he had kissed her beneath the moon. And of this morning when he had held her and warmed her beneath the sun.