Charlene Sands by Taming the Texan

slowly, removing her shoes and stockings and her gown, putting everything away neatly. She moved to the window to take one last look at the land and wish Hoyt a goodnight, as she had every night since he’d died, the ritual beginning when he’d taken very ill.
    “What’s it look like tonight?” he’d ask from his bed. “Tell me, how many stars are out? Has peace settled over the ranch yet?”
    And Tess would tell him when he was too weak to see for himself. After his death she continued in that practice, appraising the land, the stars and the ranch he loved so much, silently, her way of assuring him she would carry out his last wishes.
    A shadow of a man caught her eye. Out by the palomino’s corral. Surely it wasn’t Clint.
    Meet me out here late tonight.
    Had he been serious with that taunt? The notion had put exciting images in her head all day long, and if truth be told, she’d secretly wanted to meet him.
    There are others things I want to possess.
    Her mind reeled. What would it be like to be possessed by Clint? Would he make good the promise in his eyes?
    She stared at the corral, and the man turned, as if he’d known she was there. Dressed in her pale white chemise, Tess knew she should draw the curtain and move away from the window, but instead she stood there as if she’d been planted into a deep, tight hole, rooted with no way out.
    Clint stood in the moon’s shadow. The brim of his hat shaded his face entirely, but then he pushed his brim up higher on his forehead and he came into full view. Even from this distance she witnessed raw desire on face, his smile, unabashed and… sinful.
    Tess drew her hand to her chest, reacting to him, the look of pure lust on his face and the desire battling within her. Her bones melting, she didn’t know what to do. The temptation pulled at her and she fought it like a tug-of-war.
    But her next move was decided undeniably when Clint turned back around to the palomino’s corral and climbed the rungs, jumping over the fence.
    “Clint!” she called out, though she doubted he could hear her or if her alarm would matter to him one bit.
    She put her robe on, slid her feet into slippers and raced down the stairs, out into the dark night.
     
    “Are you crazy?” she whispered with a sharp intake of breath. She trained her gaze on the palomino at the far side of the corral. His nostrils flared. His breaths spurted out. He appeared ready to charge.
    She kept her voice low, but the palomino barely noticed her, both man and animal locked down in a stare as Clint stood facing him from the opposite end of the corral.
    “I’m marking my territory.” Clint didn’t move a muscle. “Letting him know I’m here.”
    “I’d say you’ve made your point,” she said in a hushed tone. Clint was hard to miss; his presence dominated wherever he went.
    “Not yet.” He continued to stare.
    Through the shadows of darkness the moon cast light on the horse’s coat, making him appear a golden mythical beast that might fly off into the clouds at any moment.
    Oh, if only.
    Tess held her breath. Clint knew what he was doing. The set of his jaw and the determination on his face had to mean something.
    “He’s a smart one.”
    “He looks angry.”
    “He is. But he’s frustrated, too. He’s trapped and wants out.”
    Clint could have been speaking about himself. He’d never wanted to come back to the Double H. He’d trapped himself in this vendetta against his father.
    “You understand him?”
    Clint slid his gaze to hers. “I do.”
    The break in the stare-down riled the horse. He snorted with rising fury, then rushed forward, charging Clint.
    To her amazement, Clint held his ground, keeping his gaze on the horse.
    “Clint!”
    Then, at the last possible second, Clint hurled himself over the fence, landing solidly on his heels.
    The palomino stopped, stomped, snorted, then raced around the perimeter of the corral, thrusting himself side to side in a fury.
    Clint took his hat