Tempted by a Cowboy Read online

  But when he stepped into his place, he realized he wasn’t alone after all. She was waiting for him, naked as the day she was born, rose and lavender-scented oils on a table next to his bed.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “Lie down. I know what you need.”

  Blanco snorted, bringing him back to the here and now. He’d stopped moving the pole over the horse, something Blanco obviously didn’t approve of. Shaking his head, he went back to work, but as he picked up his singsong monologue, the image he’d shaken free of returned.

  In the time he’d been gone, the spent cowboy he was had removed his boots, jeans, and shirt, and was stretched out on his belly on clean sheets. Dawn stood over him with her soft, warm hands spread over his lower back. She began kneading motions he felt clear through to the other side. Much more and staying on his belly, or specifically his hard cock, would be out of the question.

  Another snort from Blanco. Another shake of his head. Even as he again administered to the mustang, he had no choice but to acknowledge the pulsing knot between his legs.

  “Shh. Shh. A piece of advice for you, Blanco. Don’t ever let a mare get under your skin. Use them for what nature intended but never let it become more than that.”

  Apparently Blanco agreed as witnessed by the way the mustang’s head bobbed up and down. The difference, one of them anyway, between horses and humans was that mares and stallions weren’t wired to commit to each other.

  “It’s a damn good thing I’ll never see her again,” he said, tugging on his jeans in a less than successful attempt to give his cock more moving room. “And if things get upside down and I do, I’m going to keep my damn hands off her. Not let her get anywhere near me.”

  Only three of the wranglers who’d accepted the training challenge had dropped out of the program. One had had no choice when he broke his leg. Another turned his mustang back in, citing lack of time. The third had lost custody when a local vet had called BLM about the wrangler’s rough treatment of a two-year-old mare he owned.

  None of the three had been Miguel.

  Dawn hadn’t expected anything different from the man she had no intention of seeing again.

  Sacramento was hot, the sky hazy. Still, as she drove toward the fairgrounds where the Mustang Challenge was being held, Dawn paid little attention to weather conditions. Instead, she once again asked the same question she’d been putting to herself since requesting a week’s vacation.

  Why was she doing this?

  The simple answer, of course, was that in the hundred days since she’d last seen Miguel, she’d thought of him every one of those days. More to the point, he’d been part of her nights. Even now with traffic hemming her in on all sides, a too-familiar heat stabbed at her pussy, prompting her to squeeze her legs together.

  Damn, but the man had taken hold of a certain part of her anatomy.

  All right, so much for the simple answer, she acknowledged as the driver ahead of her touched his brakes, prompting her to do the same. Hadn’t she resolutely reminded herself that she wasn’t hardwired for one-night stands? She could count her lovers on the fingers of a single hand, proof that she didn’t believe in bed hopping. Not counting Miguel, her sex partners had become so after lengthy lead-ins during which she’d gotten to know them as human beings. Even when her libido argued that knowledge didn’t have to come before scratching certain powerful itches, she’d held true to her personal code.

  She was a good girl, maybe a little repressed in terms of today’s free-swinging single scene but able to face herself in the mirror. At least she’d always been able to until—

  Activating the left turn signal, she started to pass the vehicle ahead of her. She didn’t finish her thought until she’d settled back in the right lane. Okay, the deal was, even after one hundred days, she had no logical or sane explanation for why she’d let Miguel Perez jump her bones.

  Or, despite the modified missionary position, had she jumped his bones?

  Too complex. Too technical.

  She was here to see what he’d accomplished with a wild stallion, that’s all. A bit of a busman’s holiday, something to take back with her and maybe share with future mustang wranglers. She had no intention of letting him know she was here, none at all.

  Maybe.

  “No maybe to it, Dawn!” she chided herself aloud. “No playing with fire and that man’s a pyromaniac where you’re concerned. You ain’t got a lick of sense around him.”

  Nothing except fascination for a man who in many ways was as wild as the horse he’d taken home with him.

  And she didn’t need wild.

  It scared the hell out of her.

  Although he’d never been to the Sacramento fairgrounds, as Miguel stood on the bleachers overlooking the riding arena where he and the other wranglers would start competing tomorrow, his thoughts kept straying from his surroundings. After getting Blanco out of his trailer and into the stall that had been assigned him, after making sure the stallion had adequate feed and water, he’d decided to familiarize himself with the setting. A handful of other wranglers were doing the same—lean, solitary men in western garb staring down at the large, empty enclosure.

  Surely they were thinking back over the past three-plus months, mentally replaying the time they’d spent with their mustangs, questioning some aspects of the training, feeling pride in other areas.

  They weren’t fighting distraction, especially not that distraction.

  Determined to get a handle on his mind and body, Miguel reminded himself that he hadn’t heard from, let alone seen, Dawn Glass since the day he’d taken possession of Blanco—the day he’d insanely fucked the BLM employee.

  As a teen, especially in the year following his mother’s death, he’d gotten drunk. More nights than he wanted to admit, he’d chased one beer with another until he’d either passed out or thrown up. Finally, he’d faced facts. His damn-stupid behavior was going to land him in a world of trouble if he didn’t get a grip.

  Well, he’d gotten a grip on his drinking.

  And fortunately, he’d regained sanity after one round with Dawn Glass. He wouldn’t make the mistake of a repeat performance.

  How could he?

  They weren’t even in the same part of the state.

  According to the copy of the events’ agenda she’d been given when she’d walked onto the fairgrounds this morning, the first day’s events would begin with a veterinarian examining all forty of the mustangs who’d been entered in the Mustang Challenge. They’d be checked for body conditioning, which constituted 20% of the total score, and when that was over, the in-hand competition would begin. Fortunately, the flier explained that in-hand meant each horse would be ridden through the same obstacle course and their efforts compared.

  The stands were still filling and she was able to find a seat in the front row. Wondering if Miguel might look up and spot her almost had her scrambling higher, but she wanted the best possible view. She tried to settle in and relax, but her hands kept sweating and she’d give a great deal to be able to press those sweaty hands against her crotch.

  Damn it! Knowing she’d soon be seeing him shouldn’t be doing this to her.

  But it was.

  Her thoughts jumped and started, turned and stopped. Time passed. More and more people moved in around her, reminding her of how claustrophobic she’d felt on the freeway. When were things supposed to get started, damn it! Waiting for Christmas morning back when she was five and six hadn’t been any harder than this.

  Then, suddenly, energy filled the air. Shivering despite the heat, she stared at the open gate at the far end. A horse led by a wrangler wearing high, narrow-toed cowboy boots approached the gate. Then they were inside the arena. A single glance had already assured her that this wasn’t Miguel. Just the same, her heartbeat quickened, and the delicious ache between her legs had her squirming. Soon, soon!

  Horse and trainer after horse and trainer came into view. According to the announcer, the vet had
already made his examinations, which meant the action would soon begin. Her eyes ached from staring, and her muscles burned from the tension she couldn’t shake off.

  Then it happened. If someone had held a gun to her head, she couldn’t have said what made him stand out from the others even though they all wore Stetsons. Yes, his body had been carved by a physical existence, but his wasn’t the only one. Like other wranglers, he carried himself with a self-confidence she would have given a great deal to emulate right now. Although he didn’t look behind him at Blanco, she sensed a connection between the two.

  Beyond working with the stallion, what had he been doing for the past hundred days? Her study of his application and the recommendations that had accompanied it had told her he was the foreman of one of the largest cattle ranches in northern California, maybe the whole state. The ranch owner and a local vet had been unanimous in their praise for Miguel’s ability to work with horses. What was it the vet had said—something about Miguel being part mustang.

  That was his appeal—his appeal and what caused her heart to leap in something that might be fear. He might not have been born in the wilderness the way Blanco had, but he understood the stallion on a level she could only struggle to try to grasp. He’d gotten not just into Blanco’s head, but the horse’s soul as well.

  Just as he’d done to her.

  Clapping coming from all around brought her back to the here and now. She’d been so intent on finding Miguel that she hadn’t paid much attention to what was in the arena. Now she saw that an obstacle course had been laid out, and the first horse was getting ready to go through it. The course included a number of rails laid out on the ground only a few inches apart, a line of barrels of various heights, several tires, a haphazard arrangement of hay bales, and something resembling a goalpost with long, bright plastic streamers hanging from the top.

  The first horse, led by its handler, did a great job of stepping over each rail one at a time. It balked at squeezing between two closely placed bales and refused to have anything to do with going under the goalpost streamers. The second horse reared when its handler tried to get it to place a front hoof in the tires, and like the one before it, said “to hell with that” about the flapping plastic.

  Maybe that opinion was catching as witnessed by the reaction of the mustangs that came after. It didn’t help that the wind was blowing, causing the streamers to dance crazily. Just the same, she was impressed by how patient the wranglers were and the way the horses extended their heads toward them for a reassuring pat.

  Miguel, finally Miguel!

  And Blanco looking as free as he’d been before his capture, without so much as a halter let alone a lead rope.

  A couple of wranglers had taken their charges through the obstacle course without ropes on their halters. Neither had been completely successful, but her admiration for what they’d accomplished gave her a good idea of what Miguel and Blanco would have to do to win the competition.

  Even before horse and man reached the starting line, something shifted in her. She no longer sat looking down at the action. Instead, she was beside Miguel, taking Blanco’s place, feeling the invisible connection between the two. Miguel’s self-confidence and belief in what Blanco was capable of seeped into her. In her heart of hearts, Miguel became a thousand years old, an ancient soul. He had no existence beyond the bond he had with Blanco—with her.

  In a dim way she realized the stands had hushed as everyone watched man and mustang work together. “He’s a stallion,” someone behind her whispered. “And with all those mares here…”

  Belatedly, she realized that the speaker had been talking about Blanco and not Miguel. But as Miguel stood near Blanco, mouthing something or making quiet hand gestures, she wondered if there were any difference between the two.

  Not where she was concerned.

  She, a woman in heat, had been turned on by a two-footed stallion.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, give this wrangler and his charge a hand,” the announcer said unnecessarily after Blanco had walked unhesitantly through the dancing plastic streamers. Fighting the urge to jump to her feet, she joined in the enthusiastic applause as Blanco rubbed his forehead against Miguel’s chest.

  Smiling for the first time, Miguel reached up and scratched between Blanco’s ears. And Dawn, who couldn’t have taken her eyes off Miguel if doing so blinded her, felt the communication everywhere.

  Touch me! Let me feel everything.

  He hadn’t yet returned to the spot where he and Blanco were supposed to stand when they weren’t going through their paces, when Miguel sensed something he hadn’t been aware of back when he’d concentrated on keeping the connection with the mustang. At first he told himself he was simply responding to the audience’s positive reaction to Blanco’s performance, but this wasn’t just approval, simple respect. Something deeper was at work.

  Somewhere.

  Looking up with a hand on Blanco’s neck and his Stetson shielding his eyes, he scanned the crowd. There were so many people and so much movement, how could he—

  Her.

  Not blinking, he intensified his gaze. Dawn Glass was surrounded and yet she stood out from the others, her own gaze more intense than anyone else’s. He’d told himself she wouldn’t be here, that she had better things, more important things to do with her life than to watch the challenge. They’d had what, only a few minutes together. No way would she drive for hours, rent a motel room, and spend days in this flat, crowded city.

  But she had.

  Blanco’s skin rippled, taking a little of Miguel’s attention off the only member of the audience he cared about. Not sure how long he’d been standing there staring, he started walking, making clicking sounds as he did. He returned to his assigned spot and resolutely studied the next competitor instead of doing what had to be more dangerous than stepping in front of a Brahma bull—look at her again.

  He didn’t know what her game, her intent was. But he wasn’t some damn stud.

  He wasn’t!

  6

  The day’s events were over, Miguel and Blanco the hands-down winners of the initial competition. But although Dawn acknowledged a quiet pride in their accomplishments, that pride was complicated by everything else she was feeling—especially deep inside her core.

  In deference to the heat, she’d worn shorts and a short-sleeve blouse. Accustomed to her uniform, the change had increased her awareness of herself as a woman. Either that or the moment of eye contact between her and Miguel was responsible.

  Damn it, she had no business heading toward the long structure she’d learned contained the stalls the mustangs were being kept in. Granted, other people were milling around them so it wasn’t as if she’d stand out, but unlike a number of the others, she wasn’t related to a competitor or considering buying one of the mustangs.

  Was she the only one more interested in the wrangler than his charge?

  Judging by a trio of early twenty-something women in skintight jeans and western shirts with more buttons than necessary open, she wasn’t alone in her focus. She’d heard of sports groupies so it wasn’t a stretch to realize that wranglers held the same sexual appeal for certain women.

  So that’s what it all boiled down to, did it? This journey of hers had nothing, or rather little to do with Miguel Perez as a separate human being. He was a cowboy, macho male to the max, at one with open plains and part of the heritage of the old west.

  No, she argued with herself as she reached the extensive stables, she wasn’t some airhead broad seduced by the allure of the West. Then what was she?

  Too many damn complicated questions!

  Her legs were unsteady and her palms sweaty as she called up the courage to look in the first stall. A horse was standing there munching on hay and looking nothing like Blanco. And no wrangler, mostly no wrangler.

  The trio of young women about twenty feet ahead of her all giggled at the same time, and she felt ridiculous and a bit like a stalker. A stalker after the ma
n who’d spread her legs, once.

  The air smelled of horse and hay, and as she made her way down the long line of stalls with the top half of their doors open, she mentally went back to the time she’d spent with the recently captured members of Blanco’s herd. Even with the desert and isolation and dust, she’d fallen so in love with the assignment that she’d put in to be part of what might become its next phase. Although what was under consideration was controversial, she believed the mustangs’ future depended on it. Had Miguel heard about the plan, and if so what had his reaction been?

  “Dawn?”

  Her name, on his tongue, sounding like liquid fire. Licking at her skin and spreading deep. Touching a place maybe only he knew about.

  She turned without conscious thought. From what she could tell, he’d been in the stall but coming out when he spotted her, either that or something about her had telegraphed her presence to him. Not wanting to have that much power, she waited while he locked the half door behind him. Sticking his head out the opening, Blanco whinnied. The sound echoed inside her.

  “I saw you,” he said, his hands at his sides, straw sticking to his jeans and boots.

  “I know you did.”

  Nothing. Not another word between them, only sensation like a building mountain storm and her pussy on fire and instantly hard nipples pressing against her bra. He was everything her imagination had remembered, and more. Rugged like faded barn wood and strong as an ancient oak. Again she was stuck by the agelessness in him, the conduit running from the settlement of the West to the present day. She guessed he’d had to force himself to drive his truck and trailer onto the freeway and head south into civilization. Unlike her, he probably hadn’t checked into a motel but was staying on the grounds near his horse.

  A horse he’d soon turn over to someone else.