Loving A Cowboy Page 6

  God, how he hated being banished to the bedroom, lying helpless and bored. Really bored. And these days when he got bored…his thoughts turned to Libby.

  Not so much Libby now but Libby back then. He and Libby. Naked. Together. Her legs wrapped around him, her back to the wall while he held her, buried deep inside her, and pumping like a machine. She’d liked it hard and fast, just the way he liked to give it.

  His blood was starting to stir. Not what he needed to think about, especially when there could be no relief. He needed to focus on getting ready to ride—a horse, not a woman.

  A cold shower might help. And something to drink. Too bad Lonnie had left the beer in the kitchen refrigerator. Apparently beer and Percocet didn’t mix. Not that he’d taken the painkiller today. He hadn’t. He intended to use strictly ibuprofen from here on. Too many cowboys got addicted to painkillers, easy enough to do in a business where living with pain was the accepted norm. Chance had no intention of stumbling down that path. Not given his genetic makeup.

  Someone now pounded on the door.

  Chance again shouted for the person to come around, whoever it could be. Clearly not the visiting nurse. He waited a minute…no more pounding. Could be the person had heard him or had just given up.

  Motion at the French doors said the former. He heard the jiggle of the door handle, saw the curtains flutter, and then…

  Libby stepped into Chance’s bedroom and almost had a heart attack as she set down the two pieces of luggage in her hands. The place looked like she’d interrupted a robbery in progress, with clothes strewn across the floor and bed, half opened drawers, newspapers scattered about. But that wasn’t what was making her heart rate pound like the hooves of a spooked horse running for its life. Sitting in the middle of the mess, on a king-sized bed with a massive oak headboard, gloriously bare-chested with only a thin satin sheet covering the rest of his nakedness, was Chance.

  He was a beautiful man despite the bruises. The pulse hammering away inside her said her body thought so too. Muscles rippled, flexed, and bulged as he pulled the sheet up. Once she had lain beside all that muscle and flesh, had run her fingers along every blessed inch of him. She’d caressed and stroked, kissed and licked and enjoyed every quiver she’d created. Seeing him practically naked had brought it all back with heat-intensified accuracy.

  But before she could get too far along in that fantasy, cold slate-gray eyes vanquished the images right out of her head. If looks could freeze, she’d be an ice cube instead of melting all over herself.

  “No one answered the front door.” Libby stated the obvious.

  “As you well know, I’m not exactly in a position to play host, Libby. What the hell are you doing here?”

  She took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy, but then again, he also wasn’t in a position to do anything about her coming. Or staying.

  “I know you aren’t up to entertaining, Chance. And that’s precisely why I’m here. To look after you.” The fact no one had answered the door gave her hope that no other woman had stepped into the role.

  “The hell you are.” He closed one eye in a grimace. Pain? All the more reason he needed her.

  “Yes, the hell I am,” she said in her firmest voice. “You need to rest and heal, and I’m going to see that you do just that.”

  He started to throw back the covers as if to get up, but then he halted, realizing either that he didn’t have any clothes on or that he shouldn’t stand up on his foot just yet. Either way, he stopped before anything more than a hip bone was revealed. Something she was grateful for because one look at his entire body, especially that part of his body, and she might just fling herself at him in a shameless, pathetic way, even if he was almost an invalid.

  And she hadn’t come here for that.

  No, she hadn’t. She’d come because he needed her, or at least he needed someone. And to make amends. Then she could move on. Close the book on Chance, knowing she’d done something good for him.

  She’d take care of him, nurse him, and use the time to figure out what she was going to do with her life and where Ben fit into it. All the while doing something for someone who not only needed her but whom she owed big-time for screwing with his life.

  “I’m going to kill Lonnie. I don’t need your help.” This time those gray eyes of his flashed hot instead of cold. The temper kind of hot. Chance had a temper. And though he took pride in maintaining control, she’d seen him take out a man with more girth and heft than two of him. But Libby wasn’t intimidated. Not by Chance.

  “Sure you do. If just to answer the door. But I’m also going to cook for you,” she said as she took in the small microwave plopped on his dresser. “And clean, and I can even take care of animals if you’ve got any in that barn.” She hadn’t taken the time to peek into the stable, but it looked new or recently painted, given the sheen hadn’t weathered off yet.

  In fact the whole scene outside had looked like something out of a western lifestyle magazine, what with the low-slung, timber and stone ranch house, the neat corrals and barn, and the huge swimming pool she’d passed off the patio. A long way from trailer living, for sure.

  “First off, I don’t get many visitors, and I board my horses at the neighbors because I travel so much. And I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve got it all set up, if you didn’t notice.” He fell back against the pillows. “I’m not a cripple, Libby.”

  She stepped further into the room, even though he hadn’t exactly extended an invitation, and closed the French doors. “No, you certainly are not,” she agreed as she moved to sit on the far edge of his bed.

  She’d noticed the mess but also the way it was decorated. Not like the typical bachelor pad. Chance’s room was alive with southwestern colors. Native American saddle blankets hung on the tan walls and mellow, golden oak furniture rested on the wood floors. The fieldstone fireplace, flanked by rich, honey leather chairs, lent a warm, masculine, and substantial feel to the room. It wasn’t her style, but she liked it. And so different from the cool sleekness of her father’s house.

  “But you’re not exactly able bodied yet,” she added.

  Her gaze settled on the purple, blue, and yellow bruises covering his firm six-pack abdomen, a testament to the pain he’d endured. That thought brought heaviness to her heart and renewed determination to do right by him this time.

  “I’m capable of taking care of myself.” He stared at her as if willing her to leave would work. It wouldn’t.

  “Look, Chance. If my help enables you to heal faster, it seems worth putting up with my presence. I’m not that bad to live with.”

  “Live with?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in a hard swallow. “That ain’t going to happen, Libby. No way.” He sounded like she had some disease he was afraid of catching.

  “You need someone. Be reasonable.”

  “I am being reasonable. You think you can waltz into my bedroom and make yourself at home? Ain’t happening,” he snarled, just like Cowboy did when he was chasing his tail in frustration. “Besides, how can you afford to tear yourself away from Brennan Motors or that suit you plan to marry? I can’t imagine either of them giving you time off to look after me.”

  She bit her lower lip. Her father and Ben were two subjects she did not wish to discuss, especially with Chance, but there was no getting around it. “My father didn’t have a say in it since I don’t work for Brennan Motors. Ben is at a training class for the next two weeks, and we aren’t officially engaged.” She didn’t add the “yet.”

  His brow furrowed, Chance shook his head. “This guy Ben must have gotten a great job to let you out of his sight before sealing the deal, and you must have gotten some great job for your father to let you off the hook. You need to get right back to that guy and that job, Libby. I mean it.”

  She swallowed hard. She expected Chance to act difficult. She doubted he expected her to be just as stubborn. “I don’t have a job yet. That’s why I can come and help you.”


  His eyes narrowed to slits. Not his most attractive pose. Made him look a little snake-like, actually.

  “Is that the game? Daddy is mad because you wouldn’t play in his sandbox, and you figure you can freeload off me until this Ben guy returns. That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?”

  While she wouldn’t deny that the facts seemed to support his conclusion, it was the wrong conclusion. The moment Chance had hit the dust and hadn’t stood up, she knew her place was at his bedside, whether at the hospital or his home. Point was, she cared. She guessed she was here to find out how deeply. She didn’t fool herself that Chance would want to hear that, much less believe it. Or what it would mean to either of them if he did.

  “My father and I did have a falling out when I told him I wasn’t going to work for Brennan Motors, and it hasn’t been very pleasant at home. I am trying to get a public relations job with the Western Stock Show in Denver.” She wished she could wipe the smug I-thought-so expression off his face, but the truth was the truth. “So, yes, I could use a change of scene. But you also need help. So unless you’re planning on calling the county sheriff to throw me out, I think you should accept my offer.”

  He eyed her through those narrowed lids. “You know I’m not calling the police on you.”

  “Good. Then we’ve reached an understanding. And, just so everything is out in the open, I may need a few hours here or there to do some interviews for that stock show position, but I’ll make sure everything is in good order before I step out.”

  “Libby, this is not a good idea.” His voice held a warning.

  “Why? You need me temporarily. I need a place to stay temporarily. What reason could there be not to help each other?”

  His gaze started at her chest, traveled down the front of her tank top, pausing briefly at her waist before continuing down her jean skirt, past her bare legs, right to her bejeweled flip flops.

  “That kiss in my truck should be reason enough.” He lifted his gaze to her face and leaned back against the headboard. “We also have a history that isn’t a pretty one. And, by the way, I signed that affidavit, so there is nothing stopping you from marrying anyone you want.”

  Strange that she hadn’t given a thought to the affidavit. “Thank you. And our history is precisely what should keep us from making any future mistakes in the attraction direction.”

  “So you don’t deny there’s still an attraction between us?”

  She took a deep breath as she felt her cheeks flush. “I don’t deny it. But it’s a physical attraction, and you’re in no shape to act on it…so we’re good.”

  He shook his head. “Honey, a few things were broken, but take my word for it, that’s working just fine.”

  She took another deep breath. She bet it was working fine. But she’d been counting on a good deal of pain to keep it corralled, not to mention his anger. No matter. He did need her, health-wise. “We’re two adults, Chance. I think we can handle this. You want to get better. I can help you.”

  She turned her head and surveyed his room. “Look at this place. It’s only been a few days since you got out of the hospital. What will it look like in a week? And food?” She motioned to the empty bags of potato chips and pretzels. “You can’t live on snacks and get better.”

  He snorted and looked in the direction of her Louis Vuitton suitcase, part of her high school graduation gift. But Chance wasn’t looking at her designer bag.

  “What the hell is that?” he said, nodding toward Cowboy’s carrier.

  “That is Cowboy.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Cowboy. He was a stray, and I’ve given him a home.”

  “Seems like you’re planning to give him my home. I’m not a fan of house cats, Libby.”

  “Cowboy won’t bother you, but you may find you like this one. He’s a lot like you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said. He’s brave, independent, acts like he doesn’t care about people but can be very loving.”

  He stared at her a moment. “I don’t know what you mean by that last comment, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t a compliment.”

  She waved her hand. “Cowboy will grow on you, is all I’m saying.”

  “No, he won’t, because I don’t want him in this room.”

  She rose off the bed. Hanging around a dealership all her life, she knew the rules of making a sale. When you’ve got the customer’s commitment and closed the deal, leave. “You won’t know he’s about, I promise.” How she was going to keep that promise with an independent-minded cat, she didn’t know.

  Chance eyed her. “Libby, do you really think this is a good idea? Us being together after all these years, with everything that’s gone on between us. I’m not a man to forget a wrong someone has done me. But I am a man.”

  “I know, Chance.” There was no mistaking it, she thought as she gazed at his wonderfully muscled torso. He was definitely a man. “I’m not here hoping you’ll forgive me or anything. I know that’s pretty much impossible.” She stared down at her fiddling hands. “But this is something I want to do for you, so whether you want me to or not, I’m helping you.” If for no other reason than to assure he didn’t do something stupid, like use his foot before it was fully healed.

  He stared at her a moment and huffed like a snorting Brahman. “Sounds like you’re trying to grow a spine, Libby. But trying it out on me isn’t a true test, you know. Besides, if you think this will square us, think again.”

  “I know that—you’ve already warned me.”

  “There was once something between us. Something intense. You must be pretty sure that’s all gone to propose this.”

  Libby took a dry swallow, definitely not sure of anything, but she nodded anyway.

  He stared at her a moment longer than a heartbeat. She wondered if those cold eyes of his could read her mind, her heart. She wondered what either would tell him, because she sure didn’t know.

  “Have you eaten yet? Real food?” she asked to break the tension.

  “No,” he practically growled.

  She held her face steady, proud of herself that she didn’t flinch. “Good, I’ll start there. And any particular bedroom I should or shouldn’t take?”

  There was mischief in his grin. “If you want to test out your theories about my abilities, you are welcome to share my bed.”

  She flushed. “Very funny.” Was he actually flirting with her?

  He took a shallow breath. He was probably in pain through all this yammering. She hadn’t even thought about that. Some nurse she was.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, looking annoyed that she’d asked. “Room down the hall is usually Lonnie’s when he stays, so that would leave the room next to mine. Linens are in the hall closet.”

  “Great.” She turned to gather up her things. Cowboy had started to give a few plaintive cries.

  “Libby.”

  “Yes,” she said, turning back at him.

  “You even know how to cook?”

  “Of course I know how to cook,” she fibbed. “We’ll just see what you have in the fridge. And maybe later I’ll run to the grocery store.”

  “Grocery store is a half hour away. I’m surprised you even found this place.”

  She snatched up Cowboy’s carrier and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She wouldn’t mention she had two more suitcases in the car. “That’s what the Internet and GPS are for, Chance.” She flashed him a smile as she passed through the doorway. She’d made the sale. Now for the delivery.

  Chapter 7

  Libby peered into the room he’d assigned her and took in the patchwork quilt on the bed, the blue-and-brown striped curtains, the oak dresser, the comfortable-looking chair covered in brown suede-like fabric, and the wall-to-wall deep-blue rug.

  Neat and tidy, the room wasn’t feminine, of course, but it was warm and inviting. So unlike Chance’s response to her arrival.

  She dropped her l
uggage and opened Cowboy’s cage. He bounded out, gave her a quick look over his shoulder that said “about time,” and moved out. As she watched him scurry away, tail erect, she prayed Cowboy would stay away from Chance’s room. She stepped into the hallway, closed the bedroom door, and headed toward the front of the house in search of the kitchen.

  The initial confrontation with Chance had been difficult, but she’d survived. And won, she thought as she broke several eggs into a bowl. One thing she could make was a good omelet. She could also make quiche, though when and if she served that to him she’d call it something different so he wouldn’t think he was eating sissy food.

  Chance’s kitchen was like the rest of the house she’d seen so far—homey. So unlike what she expected. There were blue gingham curtains on the window, maple cabinets, and a large maple table with solid chairs that dominated the space. A rag rug covered the beige-and-brown stone tiles that gave the room a rustic look.

  Supplies were another matter. She’d scoured the cabinets and found only one fry pan, one large pot, one small pot, a set of cream-colored dishes with enough place settings for four people, and only four glasses—as if he’d bought the smallest quantity of whatever he needed and hadn’t expected to share it with anyone. The refrigerator contained a similar proportion of goods—one tub of butter, one gallon of milk, one loaf of bread, one jar of peanut butter (who ever heard of putting bread and peanut butter in the fridge?), one wedge of cheddar cheese, one six-pack of beer, one dozen eggs, and three packages of bacon. That was it. What did the man think he was going to eat, other than bacon?

  She discovered the answer to that question when she opened up the pantry. Cereal. There were boxes and boxes of all kinds of multigrain cereal lining the three walls of shelves, as well as dozens of cans of soup. And that, she figured, was what the man was planning on fixing for eats.

  A man who, as she recalled, could eat steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with ribs as a chaser. She’d have to go to the grocery store after she fixed Chance some eggs. And check out some recipes via the Internet. She’d already spied a grill on the patio by the pool. Grilling couldn’t be too hard, if she could figure out how to turn it on.