Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
B y the time they reached the pond, Ry’s troubles had shifted from his thighs to his feet.
He could see no point in toughing it out for the sake of vanity — Freddy had witnessed one of the more vulnerable moments of his life when she’d applied the Bag Balm to his thighs.
So when they reached the water, he tethered Mikey and leaned against the tree to pull off his boots.
“Now you understand why cowboys ride instead of walk,” Freddy said.
“I do indeed.” Without rolling up the stiff cuffs of his jeans, he waded straight into the water.
“Good God!” The icy water immediately numbed his feet, and although he tried to grip the algae-covered rocks with his toes, they refused to cooperate.
Arms flailing, he landed on his tender rear.
On impact, his hat sailed into the water and he grabbed it just before it floated away like a child’s toy boat.
He slapped the dripping hat on his head and sat there, too disgusted to move.
Freddy dismounted and sauntered over to the pond. “How’s the water?”
She’s a real smart aleck . As he sat and fumed, a plot formed in his mind, a plot born of twelve hours of the most extreme discomfort he had ever remembered.
Now his butt was numb, which wasn’t all bad, but he’d never immersed his body in such cold water in his life.
She’d seen what he was about to do. She could have warned him. Now it was payback time.
“Ry?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her step closer.
“Are you okay?”
The sudden lunge was excruciatingly painful, but worth it. On the football field, his unsportsmanlike tackle would have earned him a flag, but this wasn’t a sanctioned game. In two seconds, Freddy was splashing and sputtering next to him in the water.
“Ry McGuinnes, that was the nastiest, meanest—” She started to struggle to her feet and he grabbed her arm to jerk her back down.
“Leaving so soon, Miss Singleton?” He looked her over and noted with satisfaction that her jeans and shirt were soaked.
Her hat had flipped backward onto the embankment and water dripped from the ends of her hair.
He held her wrist in an iron grip. “The water isn’t too cold for you, is it?
Since you failed to warn me about it, I assumed you’d want to join me in a little swim. ”
She glared at him. “My boots will be ruined. And I thought you were a gentleman.”
“And I thought you were a lady. A lady would have cautioned me about the cold water and the slippery rocks. A lady wouldn’t have taunted me once I fell in.”
He’d begun to notice something else. Beneath the soaked front of her blouse, her nipples shoved against the material in protest against the chill.
Now that he’d given in to the need for revenge, other needs began asserting themselves, as if they’d only required the merest crack in his armor of self-control to slip through.
“I’m only trying to save my ranch!” she protested, her chest heaving.
This dunking was either a very good idea or a very bad one, he thought, longing to unfasten the snaps of her shirt. He looked into her eyes. “And I’m only trying to save my hide,” he said pleasantly. She had such beautiful eyes, the same dusky color as the sagebrush growing along the trail.
“Why don’t you just give up?” she cried.
“Why don’t you?” He studied her expressive mouth. The water was cold as a snowbank, but her mouth would be warm… so warm.
“What do you need this ranch for?” Her eyes misted, dew on sage. “Can’t you go buy some more pork bellies or something and be just as happy?”
“Not anymore.” He reached up and grazed her lower lip with his knuckle.
Had she flinched, he would have released her and climbed out of the water.
It was definitely the wisest move he could make.
But she didn’t flinch. Instead, her pupils widened in awareness.
He sucked in a breath. “Instead of discouraging me, your behavior has only made me more determined,” he said.
Her lashes swept down and pink tinged her cheeks. “To buy the ranch?”
He paused, allowing time for her imagination to work. “That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” She said it too softly for the words to carry any conviction. “Anything else would be a mistake. We already settled that.”
“Yes, we did.” He slid his damp hand behind her neck and she shivered, but whether from the chill or from anticipation, he couldn’t know. “But I thought you weren’t going to sabotage me anymore, either.”
“That wasn’t really sabotage.”
“No?”
Her gaze reconnected with his and the turmoil in her eyes betrayed her inner struggle. “Some things just happen.”
“So I’m discovering.” He guided her closer, watching the battle rage until at last her lashes fluttered down in partial surrender.
Their breath mingled for a long moment as he hesitated.
Logic tried for a foothold in his brain and failed.
He had to taste her. With the first brush of his lips, her breath hitched, and he knew she was strung as tight as he.
Misgivings assaulted him, but the velvet promise of her mouth beckoned.
He skimmed over her lips once again and his heart lurched when he discovered them parted in welcome.
Had he imagined anything less from this woman? With a groan, he settled his mouth firmly against hers. And was lost. Her warmth rose to meet him, her passion ignited in concert with his. Her vibrant spirit had led him through hell. Now she offered heaven.
And he took — greedily, angrily, venting hours of frustration with his lips and tongue.
She gave without restraint, matching his assault with one of her own.
Water sluiced between them as he pulled her close.
They might have been naked from the waist up, so drenched were their shirts.
His heart pounded as her breasts cushioned the tautness of his chest and he could feel the distinct imprint of her nipples.
She wound her arms around his back, pressing, kneading, wanting.
Desire defied the icy water as heat spread through him, warming his groin, his thighs, his calves, nibbling on his toes. Nibbling on his toes ?
He lifted his mouth a fraction. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” She pressed against him. “Don’t stop.”
“On your toes?”
“Down to my toes,” she agreed, her tone impatient. “Don’t talk. Just kiss me like that again.”
The nibble came again. “Not down to your toes, on your toes.”
She drew back and frowned. “I have on boots. Two-hundred-dollar boots that may never be the same after this. What are you talking about?”
Ry released her and scrambled to his feet. “Your father’s blessed bass! Is every damn thing in this country booby-trapped?”
She sat and stared at him as the sensual haze cleared from her expression and her jaw clenched. “Yes! Yes, it is!” She struggled out of the water, her boots squishing. “Especially to people who don’t know the territory. Get that through your thick Yankee head, will you? You don’t belong here!”
She’d probably never forgive him for that kiss. And worse, she’d never forgive herself. He grabbed his boots. “We’ll see about that. And by the way, I’m borrowing Maureen for the rest of the trip. This cowboy has walked his last mile.”
They didn’t speak again after that. Which was just as well, Freddy thought as she trudged heavily down the trail toward the ranch’s corrals, the wet leather of her boots complaining with every step.
Why in heaven’s name had she let him kiss her?
They could have eventually forgotten about the incident with the Bag Balm, but a kiss was never forgotten.
Especially a kiss like that, one that probed deep into the secret canyons of desire they’d kept hidden from each other until now. She was doomed.
Duane was giving a beginning riding lesson in the main corral when they approached.
Two men, a woman and two children, turned to stare as Freddy led Mikey over to the large metal watering trough.
Duane glanced in their direction, pulled his hat lower over his eyes and continued with the lesson.
At least he hadn’t laughed out loud, and for that she decided to give him a bonus at pay time.
If her new bosses would allow it, she thought with a wave of bitterness.
She imagined what she must look like. Eager to end this disastrous trail ride, she’d started down the mountain with her clothes and boots still wet.
Along the way, she and Mikey had stirred up the dry dust of the trail, which had caked onto her wet clothes and dried, until she probably looked like an adobe version of a cowgirl.
She held Mikey’s reins loosely while he drank. At last, unable to bear the suspense, she flicked a glance back to see if Ry was coming.
He was, slow but sure. Outwardly, he looked better than she did, because he’d at least been riding above the clouds of dust. But the grim set of his mouth told her he wasn’t in as good shape as he looked.
He walked Maureen over to the trough and let her drink while he stayed in the saddle.
Freddy waited for him to climb down. It wasn’t nice to stand there waiting for his groan of pain when he dismounted, but in her present frame of mind, she no longer cared about nice. Ry didn’t budge.
“Aren’t you getting down?” she said at last, unable to contain her curiosity.
He stared straight ahead. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I think my butt’s welded to the saddle.”
She bit the inside of her lip to control a chuckle. “I see. Want me to get Duane to help you off?” She figured that would light a fire under him.
It did. He wasn’t far wrong about being welded in, though. Moisture, heat and dust had formed something similar to glue between denim and leather. His backside came out of the saddle with a sound like a cow pulling its hoof out of the mud.
Freddy’s laughter broke through. She couldn’t help it. She’d probably be fired before the day was out, anyway. And once she started laughing, she couldn’t stop. She laughed until tears streamed down her mud-caked cheeks.
Ry’s bowlegged hobble as he walked over to her made her laugh even harder.
“Think it’s pretty funny, do you?” he asked.
She nodded, too overcome with giggles to speak.
He stood there, legs spread and hands on his hips while she gasped and tried to regain her composure, only to have a new fit of hysterics overtake her.
Duane rode over to the edge of the corral. “You got a problem over there?” he called.
“I think she’s having a fit,” Ry said. “Any suggestions?”
“Nope. Never seen her get like that.”
Freddy laughed even harder.
“Only one thing for it,” Ry said, coming toward her with his bowlegged swagger.
“Now, Ry,” she said, starting to hiccup as she backed away from him.
“This always works in the movies.”
He was surprisingly quick, considering his condition. She whooped in protest as he threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
“Put me down!” she screamed, kicking and struggling.
But it was too late. Water splashed over her head as he dumped her in the horse trough.
After the first shock, it felt surprisingly good and not half as cold as the snow-fed pond.
She came up for air slowly and pushed her hair out of her face to find several sets of eyes, including Mikey’s and Maureen’s, focused on her.
The guests seemed fascinated, but Duane looked terrified.
He’d never seen anyone toss his foreman in the horse trough before, and he obviously expected all hell to break loose.
Then she glanced at Ry, who was regarding her with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze enigmatic.
She wanted to strangle him for making a spectacle of her.
She longed to lash out at him for being a bully and a cad.
But the cool water had brought her to her senses.
A man who would toss her in the horse trough certainly had enough moxie to clinch a deal on the ranch.
That meant he would soon hold her fate in the palm of his hand.
And staying on the ranch had always been, and continued to be, the most important thing in the world to her.
She met his gaze. “Thanks,” she said sweetly.
“I needed that.” Then she climbed out of the trough with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was a walking waterfall.
One boot stayed in the trough and she had to fish it out.
She poured the water onto the ground, put the boot on and took the other off to repeat the process.
Then she reached for her hat floating on the surface of the water and settled it on her head.
Water drizzled down her face as if she were standing in the shower.
She blew the drops away. “If you’ll please unsaddle the horses, I’ll go up to the house and change into something dry so I can tend Mikey’s wound. ”
“Be glad to,” he said amiably, his blue eyes dancing. There was something deeper burning there, too, something that might have been admiration.
Freddy glanced over at Duane. “Can I borrow your truck?”
“Keys are on the floor,” Duane said, looking totally amazed. “Need any help?”
“Not at the moment.” Back straight and leaving a dribbling trail of water in the dust, she marched over to Duane’s old truck and climbed in.