comfortable in the guest space that was rarely used but offered more privacy than the suite on the first floor. Stupid, because as quiet as the house was at night, he’d probably be able to hear her breathing.
He sure as hell would rouse any time she turned over. That particular bed frame creaked worse than his bones, which were held together with pins, and his joints, which had seen too much rough-and-tumble abuse over the years.
And the shower…no, he couldn’t think about her in the shower, with steamy mirrors and slick white-and-yellow tiles and air too sweaty and hard to breathe, smelling as it would, of her. He wouldn’t have anyone but himself to blame for the sleepless nights ahead.
He wondered how she liked her eggs, if she drank real coffee or needed all those extras that turned a cup of joe into a five-dollar affair. He wondered if she’d ever sat the back of a horse, if she’d be willing, or if a foreign sports car was the only way she liked her rides.
Thinking about her riding had him wondering what she wore to bed, and what he would do for the chance to find out. And since that kind of thinking was a danger any sane man could see coming for miles, he stopped.
Or at least he tried to stop, settling for reining Fargo around and riding hard all the way back to the barn, realizing along the way that no matter what he owed his men, this had been a very bad way to go about getting it.
3
B Y THE TIME Wyatt reached the barn, Dr. Autrey had made it to the house along with most of his men, who’d been drawn to her car like calves to feed. The only one missing was Buck, who was waiting to take Fargo’s reins and let Wyatt know what he was thinking with a shake of his head.
“What?” Wyatt asked, as if expecting a surprise. Buck was the only one he’d told about the true intent behind allowing the doctor to visit.
“Four days, huh?” The lanky foreman hefted the saddle and Wyatt’s brightly woven blanket from the back of the horse and stored them away. “A Saturday I can see. Give her Friday to settle in and see the place. Saturday to talk to the boys. But four days?”
Having just had the same argument with himself, Wyatt didn’t see how having it now with Buck would be any sort of help. He tugged off his hat, ran a hand back over his hair, then settled the hat once more into place, pulling the brim extra low on his forehead.
“We talked about what she’s wanting to do, and I agreed that just a Saturday wasn’t long enough to spend time with all you bowlegged has-beens.”
“You being the king has-been and all, you need Sunday and Monday for yourself then, is that it?” Buck found the curry comb he wanted on a shelf beneath the hanging tack. “Do you not remember the poker game last Fourth of July?”
Wyatt remembered. The hands who hadn’t headed to town for the big barbecue in the square had sat around the table in the bunkhouse kitchen, smoking big fat cigars while winning and losing the same money all afternoon.
They’d downed enough beers to float their own fleet, and revisited the good and bad of their years on the circuit, agreeing that four days was too long to stick with any one woman in any one town.
The trip down memory lane was a little too late to be any help. “I first suggested she get done what she could on Saturday and leave after breakfast Sunday morning. She said she’d like to stick around long enough to get the full flavor of the place.”
“And you bowed down and told her yes.”
Wyatt gave him the eye. Buck was thirty-eight to Wyatt’s thirty-five and thought for some reason that gave him the right to say anything he wanted even though Wyatt was the boss. Or maybe he said what he did because they were things needing to be said.
Since the other man was also his best friend, he let him. “I didn’t bow down or bend over.” He added the latter to keep Buck from saying it since the look in his eyes made it clear it was on his mind. “She explained her
He sure as hell would rouse any time she turned over. That particular bed frame creaked worse than his bones, which were held together with pins, and his joints, which had seen too much rough-and-tumble abuse over the years.
And the shower…no, he couldn’t think about her in the shower, with steamy mirrors and slick white-and-yellow tiles and air too sweaty and hard to breathe, smelling as it would, of her. He wouldn’t have anyone but himself to blame for the sleepless nights ahead.
He wondered how she liked her eggs, if she drank real coffee or needed all those extras that turned a cup of joe into a five-dollar affair. He wondered if she’d ever sat the back of a horse, if she’d be willing, or if a foreign sports car was the only way she liked her rides.
Thinking about her riding had him wondering what she wore to bed, and what he would do for the chance to find out. And since that kind of thinking was a danger any sane man could see coming for miles, he stopped.
Or at least he tried to stop, settling for reining Fargo around and riding hard all the way back to the barn, realizing along the way that no matter what he owed his men, this had been a very bad way to go about getting it.
3
B Y THE TIME Wyatt reached the barn, Dr. Autrey had made it to the house along with most of his men, who’d been drawn to her car like calves to feed. The only one missing was Buck, who was waiting to take Fargo’s reins and let Wyatt know what he was thinking with a shake of his head.
“What?” Wyatt asked, as if expecting a surprise. Buck was the only one he’d told about the true intent behind allowing the doctor to visit.
“Four days, huh?” The lanky foreman hefted the saddle and Wyatt’s brightly woven blanket from the back of the horse and stored them away. “A Saturday I can see. Give her Friday to settle in and see the place. Saturday to talk to the boys. But four days?”
Having just had the same argument with himself, Wyatt didn’t see how having it now with Buck would be any sort of help. He tugged off his hat, ran a hand back over his hair, then settled the hat once more into place, pulling the brim extra low on his forehead.
“We talked about what she’s wanting to do, and I agreed that just a Saturday wasn’t long enough to spend time with all you bowlegged has-beens.”
“You being the king has-been and all, you need Sunday and Monday for yourself then, is that it?” Buck found the curry comb he wanted on a shelf beneath the hanging tack. “Do you not remember the poker game last Fourth of July?”
Wyatt remembered. The hands who hadn’t headed to town for the big barbecue in the square had sat around the table in the bunkhouse kitchen, smoking big fat cigars while winning and losing the same money all afternoon.
They’d downed enough beers to float their own fleet, and revisited the good and bad of their years on the circuit, agreeing that four days was too long to stick with any one woman in any one town.
The trip down memory lane was a little too late to be any help. “I first suggested she get done what she could on Saturday and leave after breakfast Sunday morning. She said she’d like to stick around long enough to get the full flavor of the place.”
“And you bowed down and told her yes.”
Wyatt gave him the eye. Buck was thirty-eight to Wyatt’s thirty-five and thought for some reason that gave him the right to say anything he wanted even though Wyatt was the boss. Or maybe he said what he did because they were things needing to be said.
Since the other man was also his best friend, he let him. “I didn’t bow down or bend over.” He added the latter to keep Buck from saying it since the look in his eyes made it clear it was on his mind. “She explained her
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