In A Cowboy's Embrace

He knelt beside her. Against his will, his fingers toyed with the ends of her hair—molten silver so fine, it must have been created by the gods.

In sleep, her lips were relaxed, inviting a kiss. Her lashes formed golden half circles beneath her eyes. A splash of color highlighted her cheeks, the makeup so subtle he wasn’t sure if what he saw was her natural color or something a brush created. And her sultry scent was all around her, enticing him.

Slowly, as if she were Sleeping Beauty awakening, her eyes opened. Blue magic the shade of midnight.

“Hi.” She blinked and ran her tongue across her lips.

He felt the gesture as powerfully as if she’d slid the zipper down on his trousers. “Hi, yourself.”

She roused slowly. “You’re home safe.”

“Hmm. No bad guys out there tonight.” Only traffic victims who shouldn’t have been driving so fast. “Stevie have a problem?”

“The alien space monsters were after him.”

He nodded. “It’s that Monroe kid. He’s in Stevie’s kindergarten class, or was. School’s out now.”

“Your son seems particularly sensitive.”

To Cliff’s surprise, she lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, her fingers incredibly soft and caressing. Delicate like the wings of a butterfly.

“Like his dad, I suspect.” She breathed the words as warmly as a summer breeze.

Cliff knew he had to move away—away from her touch. Away from the feelings that swept through him. He’d been lonely for so damn long….

By sheer force of will, he stood. It wouldn’t be right for any of them if he followed his impulse to kiss her, to carry her into the guest bedroom and make love to her for the rest of the night.

Instead, he picked his son up in his arms. “Thanks for taking care of my boy.”

She gave him a lazy smile. “No problem. That’s my job.”

For now. She’d be leaving within weeks, maybe even days. They hadn’t even worked out the details and Stevie wasn’t her responsibility. Cliff didn’t want his son hurt when Tasha left. Keeping an emotional distance was better for all concerned.

She followed him into Stevie’s bedroom, where she pulled up the covers that Melissa had tossed aside.

Stevie muttered something unintelligible as Cliff tucked him in, then rolled to his side, curled into a ball, instantly falling back into deep sleep.

The night-light cast an orange glow in the room, enough to see the usual clutter had been straightened, the toy box lid closed, the wooden train set in its place on the brightly painted play table Cliff had constructed for Stevie’s second birthday, when he’d still had his mother.

Cliff lifted his eyes, meeting Tasha’s gaze. The room felt strangely warm, the air sultry with her seductive perfume. She stood on one side of the room, the twin beds between them. Yet he could almost feel the heat of her body touching him.

“Where’s Melissa’s father?” he asked quietly.

“I have no idea. Our marriage, such as it was, only lasted two years. He said he needed to find himself. The last I heard he was looking in Australia.”

Cliff couldn’t imagine walking out on his child—or on a wife like Tasha, for that matter.

“This guy you were engaged to…was Melissa upset when you broke it off?”

“Just the opposite.” With a quick check of her child, Tasha left her bedside, moving closer to Cliff as soundlessly as a moonbeam. “Nick wasn’t very fond of kids. She picked up on that right away, which should have given me a clue that he wasn’t exactly the best catch of the year.”

“Love can do funny things to people.”

She glanced away from him. “I’m not sure love was involved—for either of us. More like convenience, although I admit there was some sexual chemistry. He was my agent and business manager. We often traveled together. It was, well, easy to get involved. It was also a mistake.”

He’d like to be able to console her, but that would be a mistake, too.

With a shake of his head, he cleared the image of holding her in his arms. “Morning comes early around here. We’d better call it a night.”

“More roundups tomorrow?”

“One more day and we ought to have it licked. For this season.”

“Good night, then.” She slipped past him, heading for the guest room.

He inhaled her lingering scent, and cursed himself for wanting to follow her all the way to her bed.

HE’D JUST POURED his first cup of morning coffee, and the mug froze halfway to his mouth when Tasha walked into the kitchen. No woman had a right to look that good first thing in the morning—her hair sleep-mussed, her face free of makeup and her cheeks naturally flushed.

Darn it all, he’d like to see her sleepy-eyed, her hair mussed from a night of his lovemaking—an image that had kept him awake most of the night. Not gonna happen, he reminded himself.

“I heard you up.” Pulling her cotton robe modestly around her, she smiled a lazy greeting. “Should I wake the children?”

He tried to act natural, as if he were used to having a beautiful woman in his kitchen every morning. “No, let ’em sleep. If they want to come out to the ranch later, you can bring them.”

“Fine.” Barefoot, her toenails an intriguing raspberry red, she glided to the coffeepot and poured herself a mug.

“You know how to find the place now?”

“Ella showed me what to look for at the turnoff. Evidently that new invention called street signs hasn’t reached Reed County yet.”

“We’re a little backward,” he admitted, taking a gulp of coffee. It burned as it slid down his throat. “But then, only strangers would need signs, and we don’t get many tourists.”

“Really? The countryside is beautiful, in its fashion. Reed County must be a well-kept secret.” Glancing around the kitchen, she asked, “Do my housekeeping duties include making you breakfast?”

“I’ve already got the oatmeal on.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll do toast. Thanks, anyway.”

He nodded toward the toaster on the counter. “Help yourself.” Getting down a bowl from the cupboard, he stirred the oatmeal.

Someone knocked on the back door.

Cliff swiveled his head that direction, dismayed to find Winifred Bruhn staring at him through the door’s window. Not waiting for an invitation, she marched right into the kitchen.

“Now, isn’t this a cozy domestic scene!” Her gray hair was frazzled and windblown, her omnipresent notebook in her hand.

He leveled her his harshest look, which didn’t seem to faze her. “You’re supposed to wait until someone says come in after you knock.” Her sudden arrival had startled him so badly, he’d nearly dropped the damn pot of oatmeal on the floor.