Texas Standoff

She met his gaze levelly as she brushed past him. “Well, then, since we’re warming up to each other, why don’t you call me by name, too? It’s not so hard to remember the initials E and Z, is it?” She spoke soft and slow, the same way her body worked beneath the robe as she led him through the house to the kitchen.

He made the mental correction-sounds the same, only the lady was known as E.Z. not Easy. The phrase “nice and easy” came to mind as he followed her, only he substituted her initials. A devilish glimmer lit his brown eyes at contemplating the subtle implication. Was she? he wondered. Was she nice? Was she easy? Aware of the dangerous turn his thoughts had taken, he began to question if the brandy he’d already consumed had warped his senses. Are you an absolute jerk or just plain nuts? The offer was limited to sharing some Hot Schnapps; it did not extend to hot bodies thrashing around between the sheets. Her intent was to sedate him, not seduce him. So she’d gotten tagged with a pet name, like Miguel. So it was a bit suggestive. Don’t blow it out of proportion, and for heaven’s sake, don’t make any wisecracks, he coached himself. He wondered what the E stood for-Elizabeth, Erica, Elaine. Then again, what did it matter? His rational self knew there was no chance in hell of winding up in the sack with his hostess. It was preposterous. Instant chemistry and spontaneous sex happened in the movies or in his wildest dreams. It didn’t happen between real peopleand virtual strangers at that. Still, a secret and impulsive part of him wished it could happen. Tonight. with her. whatever her real name might be.

He lingered in the kitchen doorway, his gaze following her every move. As she squatted down to retrieve a bottle of schnapps from the bottom shelf of the open hutch, the neckline of her robe separated, affording him a view of sun-bronzed breasts. He tried to resist, to remain unaffected, to curb his lust for a perfect stranger. Though he made a conscious effort, at some point between his brain and his groin area, the message got scrambled. His body could not deny a reaction his sensible self knew was absurd.

E.Z. glanced up at him from her crouched position. When her gaze locked with his, the words she’d been about to utter melted away under the heat of his smoldering eyes. She knew she should ignore the raw wanting reflected in the dark pools confronting her, but a completely foreign and strangely primitive urge deep inside refused to turn away from the unspoken suggestion hovering in the safe space between them.

She’d never been accused of being coy or, for that matter, especially diplomatic. The mistress of Cheyenne Moon was a very direct person. Sometimes it got her in trouble. Though she had a reputation for being a good-hearted and fair person, it was also a well-established fact that the Winston woman had a tendency to be plainspoken, at times hot-tempered, and tough as nails when need be. True to form, she knew no other way to approach the matter at hand except headon. Other than the barely perceptible lift of her chin, there was not the slightest indication that his obvious scrutiny of her partially bared breasts rattled her in the least.

“I get the distinct feelin’ that you’re in the mood for something more stimulatin’ than what I’m offerin’,” she said flatly.

He knew perfectly well she could read his mind. What’s more, he instantly realized it would be a mistake to try to gloss over what was already a sticky situation. Why not be as honest as she was. “You’re very instinctive,” was his cool reply.

She straightened up but defiantly did not touch the neckline of her robe. Setting the bottle of schnapps on the dining table, she rested a hand on one of the ladderback chairs, the other on a hip, and assessed him. “I don’t mind a man lookin’ at me. A woman can’t be the shrinking-violet type and run roughshod over a bunch of cowboys,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I suppose not,” he agreed. He had to respect her grit. Such candor in a woman was unusual.

She turned away on the pretext of being completely absorbed with hunting through a kitchen cabinet for a pair of shot glasses. Colin hadn’t budged from his position at the doorway when she returned to the table. “Well, are you going to just stand there gawkin’ at me or take a chair?” she challenged.

He followed her lead, settling opposite her at the table and pretending to be equally as absorbed in watching her fill the shot glasses to the brim with the cinnamon-flavored schnapps. He noted that she’d managed to discreetly adjust the lapels of her robe while her back had been to him, but decided not to comment.

She shoved a shot glass in his direction, picked up her own and held it suspended above the center of the table with a gesture for him to do likewise.

He clinked his glass against hers. “What are we drinking to?” he asked.

“You name it,” she countered.

He supposed “sudden encounters and great sex” might be pushing it a bit. Instead, he opted for something less obvious. “How about we drink to stormy starts and satisfying endings?” he proposed.

She returned his sly grin. “Fine with me,” she said, tipping the glass to her lips and quaffing down the pungent, liquor in one giant gulp.

Her nonchalance intrigued him. Not to be outdone by a woman, he drank down the nightcap in the same cavalier fashion.

Her immediate impression of him might’ve been wrong. At the moment he didn’t seem nearly as stiff and contrary as she’d first thought. She surveyed him thoughtfully. “So, are ya married, Colin?” she heard herself asking, unable to believe what had just come out of her mouth. It went against all of her principles, everything she’d been taught since a child. It was an unwritten rule not to delve into another’s personal affairs. “Sorry. That’s none of my business. I had no right to pry.”

He reached for the bottle and replenished their glasses. “I don’t mind the question,” he replied honestly. “I’m divorced.” He studied her, taking in every detail of her freshly scrubbed face. Not a trace of makeup and still she was breathtaking.

She merely nodded and accepted the refill he pushed in her direction. That was that. No follow-up to the personal inquiry.

They nursed their drinks in silence. The tick, tick, ticking of the old school clock on the kitchen wall grew more noticeable.

Finally he spoke up. “I haven’t really thanked you properly for rescuing me today and putting me up for the night,” he said half-apologetically.

“There’s no need to thank me. I woulda done as much for anybody caught out in that awful weather.”

He could have done without the offhand shrug that followed. It didn’t exactly make him feel special.

Nor did it exactly convey her true regard for him. Hardly. Colin Majors was definitely special. Oh, sure she would have helped out any poor soul stranded in that storm. But had she rescued a less appealing man, she sure as hell wouldn’t be missing any sleep in order to play hostess to him in the wee small hours of the morning. That was the real truth of it.

He continued to carry the conversation, making small talk, wondering if he was, in some way, making a positive impression on her in the process. They discussed ranch life briefly. They talked about politics generally. The only common denominator they struck upon was a passion for the game of basketball, and even there they differed-she being a die-hard San Antonio Spurs fan and he believing that the Houston Rockets would sweep the playoffs this year.

He sensed she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Insane as it seemed, he found himself wanting this woman like he’d wanted no other since his wife. Gwen was history. E.Z. was a current event. here and now…at this table.just an arm’s length away. What should he do? Continue to make small talk? Pretend that his heart wasn’t beating double-time or that this irresistible urge to make love to the flesh-and-blood woman so near to him didn’t exist? Only an iron man could let the moment go by. But what could he say? Please don’t take offense, but does your hospitality extend to allowing me the courtesy of making wild love to you? It was a ludicrous idea. One he instantly discounted.

She sat listening to the rain’s rhythm against the window. Now and then she threw a glance his way. What was she waiting for? They’d obviously run the gambit of pleasant conversation. They hadn’t much in common; nothing left to say to each other. They barely knew each other. Would he-be shocked to know how much his earlier come-on had affected her? Maybe he was accustomed to having his way with the ladies. He certainly had the look of a man who could satisfy a woman. What was she thinking? Her mind was moving into dangerous territory, all right. Best to leave things well enough alone. Say good-night and forget about this handsome stranger sharing her house. Yet somehow the crazy setting seemed so natural-as if he belonged in her kitchen, as if he was meant to keep her company, as if he’d been destined to don her father’s favorite robe and wear it as comfortably as her father had. As if Colin Majors was a part of the unfolding saga of Cheyenne Moon. Her thoughts were out of control. She was playing with fire by giving them free reign. Her recent discontent and secret loneliness must be getting the better of her. Abruptly she stood up and took her glass to the sink. “Well, I’m feelin’ less antsy,” she lied. “You’re welcome to the bottle.”

It surprised her to find him repositioned in the doorway when she pivoted to make a speedy exit. He moved like a jungle cat. He was staring at her with that same degree of intensity that had caused a warm rush to travel the length of her body in an instant. It was happening again, this immediate reaction, and the fact that she could neither dismiss it nor control it was the most unnerving part of all. An exchange of polite good-nights was not his intent. She knew he wanted more. The question was, did he know he’d touched on a weak spot within her, the existence of which not even she had recognized until this very moment, and which frightened her to the very core of her being? Instinct told her not to give in to such foolish desire. She could overcome this sudden weakness for a man if she blocked out the disturbing fact that he was the first to cause her heart to somersault in her chest and her tongue to tangle when he looked deep into her eyes, as if he thought there was something hidden, maybe even forbidden, for only him to see. “Something else on your mind, Colin?” she asked, somehow managing to maintain a casual demeanor.

“Yeah. you. You’re on my mind. I know it’s nuts, but I can’t see the harm in two people sharing a moment that, if one of them doesn’t speak up, will pass.” There, he’d said it out loud. What the hell! He might as well play it out. “I don’t want to lie in my bed all night wondering what we would be like together. There’s a chemistry between us. If you’re half as honest as 1 think you are, you won’t deny it.” He ended the confession on a dare.

He had her there. She wasn’t any good at guile games. “Wasn’t it you who told me that you generally like to know a woman better before playing grab-ass?” she asked, not attempting to disguise the “gotcha” expression on her face.

He leaned a shoulder to the doorjamb and cast her a rakish grin. “A man’s entitled to retract a statement made under duress.”

His comeback produced a throaty laugh. “Look here, Mr. Majors-”

“Colin,” he corrected her.

“Colin,” she obliged him. “First off, I don’t make a habit of falling into bed with any and every man who drifts onto my land. As a matter of fact, I’m having a hard time recalling when it was that I last made love. Running a ranch this size is a big job. It’s long hours and hard work. I worry about droughts and screwworms infecting my herds, not the prospect of having an orgasm. Which brings me to the second and probably most convincing reason for us sharing a drink rather than a bed.” She paused to catch her breath.

“Which is?” he prompted.

His cocky look made her want to shock him. Colin Majors couldn’t hold a candle to the rowdy cowhands she dealt with on a daily basis. She was accustomed to men’s ways and could be as headstrong and as crass as the best of them, if need be. “I’m probably way too wild a cowgirl for a city slicker like you. And I sure don’t fancy being the object of your locker-room boastin’ at the country club. Besides which, even though you may not have a missus, I got no doubts you’re expected somewhere by someone, Mr. Majors.” She purposely distanced him and needled him all at once by reducing him to mister status again. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for delaying you even further.” She’d meant to be flip and demonstrated as much with a toss of her brunette head. Her smile was equally as smug as his.

He appreciated her spunk and enjoyed the sparring match. Cocking a brow, he simply said, “My schedule is flexible and I’m not so sure that a city slicker like me isn’t an equal match for a spunky cowgirl like you. I’m willing to risk it.”

The gall of the man! Was he actually smirking? “Well, I’m not willing to risk it,” she shot back. “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for less than you expected. I’m going to bed. Alone.” That was her last word on the subject.

But it was Colin who made the final move as she attempted to sweep past him. His arm snaked out, coiling about her waist, drawing her in and locking her tight against his granite length. Without warning, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her long and deep. Her response surprised her as much as it did him. He expected resistance to his advances, but she did not struggle to extricate herself from his grip. She expected to remain impassive, then spurn him with an exaggerated wipe of her mouth after the act. Instead, she responded to his kiss with equal ardor. The same glib tongue that had just a moment ago lashed his manly ego now whetted his appetite for the passion he yearned to sample. Something that should not have happened-an erotic fantasy that should never have been given full vent-was taking a twist neither one had anticipated.

“Locker-room brag isn’t my style,” he murmured, sliding a hand up her back and gently cupping her neck. “Trust me, E.Z.” His hungry mouth traced the curve of her throat. “You’re my sweet secret. Let’s make a wild memory. I promise never to share it with another living soul.”

IT WAS ONE of the stormiest nights ever to have beset Cheyenne Moon. It caused the seasoned hands in the bunkhouse to reminisce about old times and try to top one another’s stories about other bad storms they had witnessed. The fresh-faced newcomers listened intently to the tales, never knowing what was truth and what was pure exaggeration.

Gleaning reality from fantasy was not always an easy proposition. Though the boss lady was a savvy woman and rarely got taken in by the practical jokes played in fun or the wild yarns spun around a camp fire, she’d fallen for a good-looking, smooth-as-silk stranger in a heat-flash.

If someone had told the crew in the bunkhouse what was transpiring up in the big house, none of the boys would’ve believed a word of it. Nobody would be laughing and the fella spreadin’ such a lie would be horsewhipped. Anybody who knew Elise Winston knew she wasn’t a gullible gal. She was foolish over only one thing-the land that had belonged to her family for better than a century. She might take risks where it was concerned, but never would she lose her head or act rashly because of some man.

CHAPTER THREE

THE WEATHER SYSTEM moved out of Bandera County about 4 a.m., which was approximately the same time Elise slipped out of the guest room and made her way to her own sleeping quarters down the hall. She eased into the master suite, softly shut the door, then leaned back against the solid wood, taking a moment to collect herself.

As the dense cloud cover rolled back to the west, making way for the break of dawn to the east, most everybody else on the ranch was taking advantage of the best hour of sleep-the one that came right before they were ousted out of a deep, dreamy slumber and had to face the endless cycle of chores for the next twelve. Everyone, that is, except for Luther, the cook, who routinely rose hours before the others, and the boss lady, who’d whiled away the night making love with a man she hardly knew. In stark contrast to the clearing skies over Cheyenne Moon, the past few hours of hazy lovemaking clung to Elise like morning fog, its surreal effect wafting over her and making murky mush of her mind. She couldn’t seem to shake the passion that had clouded her senses and stormed her heart.

She gave it another try, pulling away from the support of the door and drawing a long, replenishing breath. Whenever she was troubled, she paced like a cougar on the prowl. Sometimes it was only the action itself that made her aware of being in a state of flux. She’d catch herself doing it and know something was amiss inside her. This time she knew in advance. It amazed her she could feel so many contradictory emotions at once-satisfied but wanting, wonderful but wretched, embarrassed but excited, unrepentant but remorseful.

Lifting her hair off her neck, she gave in to the urge to twirl about. She spun around the room, a humming, carefree soul for a brief, totally out-of-character moment. Suddenly she drew up short, the sparkle in her eyes snuffed out by a glimpse of lavender hanging on the back of an opened closet door. The mere sight of the sundress dampened her spirits, the significance of it bringing reality crashing down around her shoulders and weighting her conscience like lead. One second drunk on desire, the next as sober as if she’d taken a dunking in Whistling Creek.

God A’mighty, what had gotten into her? She sank to the edge of the bed, falling back flat against the mattress with a groan. There was no denying she’d acted the fool, letting her tainted hot blood overtake her cool head. What must Colin Majors think of her? Not much, her disgusted self answered. He was probably smirking to himself this very minute, thinking she was either the dumbest or the horniest woman in all of Texas. Whereas, even knowing how loco a thing it was to have done, if she was lying on her death bed this very moment and rehashing the lows and highs of her days, undoubtedly she would recall the wild interlude with Colin Majors fondly. For surely it would be one of the most memorable nights and probably the best sex of her life. As badly as she hated to admit it, if she were given the chance to backup and do it differently, she wasn’t real sure she would forgo the experience.

“You can’t undo what’s done. Might as well quit moping about your sorry self, get off your backside and get about your day. Face him down when you must,” she told herself in no uncertain terms.

It was easier said than done. As she went about readying herself for what she knew was going to be a hard morning after, the worry about confronting Colin Majors again kept creeping into her head. What would his reaction to her be? Would he act as if nothing had taken place between them? Or would he feel awkward, so much so that it showed? Damn, but she dreaded having to look on his handsome face again. Maybe he would just cut out without saying a word. But that was unlikely, since he was miles from anywhere without transportation. Part of her hated the thought of his leaving, which was about as crazy a notion as the thought of him staying.

She showered hurriedly, tugged on her socks, boots and a fresh pair of Levi’s. Donning a clean denim shirt, she whipped a brush through her burnished hair, slicked it back and secured the sleek length at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clip. The boys would be expecting her to take breakfast with them at the chuckhouse as usual. She prayed they wouldn’t notice the telltale blush of great sex still lingering on her skin. She was in no mood for their ribbing. She had a lot more important things on her mind, like how to handle the problem of bidding her houseguest adieu. Ranch life had exposed her to a lot of different men-all the wranglers who’d come and gone throughout the years. It was an isolated world in which she existed-primarily a man’s realm. Though each of the men she’d known was a colorful individual with a style all his own, as a group they had a few traits in common. They treasured their freedom almost as much as they liked to linger around a camp fire, sipping coffee, swapping stories and kidding each other unmercifully. And one thing they couldn’t abide was a sticky goodbye, especially when it came to bidding farewell to a woman, and most particularly when it was a woman they wished to be rid of. She’d heard them say they’d prefer being gored or bucked or snake-bit over having to endure a prolonged parting packed with lies. It was ten times more painful than saddle sores.

With a determined set to her jaw, she walked over to the mirror and squared the Stetson on her head. “I’ll make it easy for you, Colin,” she said out loud, trying to convince herself. “It was nothin’ personal, just passing acquaintances who shared a ride and casual sex.”

Yet when she passed his closed bedroom door, she paused for a moment. Colin Majors had touched her in a way that was hard to dismiss. He had ignited the fiery yearnings she claimed to dispossess. He’d blown in on the wind and rain and stirred up a maelstrom of emotions within her. Well, at least his appearance in her life had jarred her out of a complacency she’d nearly accepted. The solid and seemingly natural direction she’d been set upon before his arrival no longer seemed so sure a course for her to follow. But then, he’d never know the crucial part he’d played in altering her future.

Images swirled in her head-him frozen like a deer in her headlights, then leaping out of harm’s way at the last possible second; their entwined bodies moving in feverish rhythm to a serenade of fading rain. All at once she was struck by the strange irony of their brief encounter. She might’ve been the one responsible for knocking him off his feet in the beginning, but he was the one who’d knocked the props out from under her in the end. Her fingertips lightly trailed across his bedroom door as she moved away. “Nice knowin’ you, Colin,” she whispered. She sincerely meant it. He’d been a delicious reprieve from the daily grind and the loneliness that sometimes felt as if it might swallow her whole. And in the biblical sense, knowing him had been as fine an experience as any woman could ever hope for. Truly fine.

COLIN WAS SHOWERED and dressed and in the kitchen, in the hopes of seeing her, a mere thirty minutes later. He was anxious to judge her reaction to the bizarre set of circumstances that had taken control of them through the night. More to the point, he felt compelled to confront those blue green eyes in the cold light of day. What private message would they telegraph him? For once in his life, he actually felt uncertain of his ability to express himself adequately. How could he convey to a woman he barely knew the specialness of what they’d shared? How could such strong feelings be reduced to mere words? Dared he risk it? What if he came across sounding foolish or, worse yet, as if he was accustomed to playing one-night stands and delivering practiced lines.

Deprived of rest, bothered by the combustible chemistry between them and a physical attraction he himself did not fully understand or accept, he wondered how in the hell he could convince her that something more complex than hard-core sex had occurred last night? In some mysterious and profound way, the ranchwoman had marked him with her E.Z.-ness in much the same fashion as everything else around this place was branded. In a few short hours, her hot aura had seared his flesh and was indelibly burned into his memory. It was crazy but true. More than anything, he wanted an opportunity to know her better, to explore all the softer facets lurking beneath the diamond-tough surface.

Though they’d engaged in more physical activity than conversation, he’d learned a few things about her. She’d told him that her family roots ran deep and were imbedded in this ranch land, and it was obvious how dearly she’d loved her father and how fiercely protective she was of her heritage. When she spoke of Roe Winston, her voice was full of respect and loyalty; however, such was not the case when Colin had again brought up the subject of the portrait and tried to delve into the background of Lady Pamela Walford-Winston. When it came to her mother, E.Z. had little to say, none of which was flattering. And though she mentioned a brother, she did not elaborate, except to say he was five years younger and precious to her.