“Who’s out there? Tom?” She reached for a bridle and he grinned.
“You’re a determined woman, aren’t you, partner?”
“It’s my ranch, and if we’ve got cattle missing, it’s hurting my profit, pure and simple,” she said harshly.
Her gaze clashed with his, and he watched as blue eyes took on an icy gleam. Color streaked her cheeks, and he considered its source. The woman was mad, feeling betrayed or invaded, or both, and he couldn’t blame her. And yet, should there be trouble with the two men he planned to confront, he didn’t want her in the vicinity.
“Why don’t you let me handle this?” he asked, tempering his need for action with soft words meant to pacify her.
“I’m not a child, J.T.,” she said curtly. “I know how to use a gun, and I can ride as well as a man. If there’s a problem on my ranch, I need to be on top of it.”
He reached out for her, and silently cursed the saddle standing between them. “I know,” he said, one hand touching her cheek. “But I don’t want you getting in the middle of a fuss.” His other hand gripped her shoulder and she flinched from his callused fingertips.
“Don’t treat me like the bad guy, Chloe,” he told her, dropping the offending hand to circle her other shoulder. “I just don’t want you hurt.” His fingers tightened, and with a surge of strength, he lifted her away from the restricting presence of the saddle.
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened as she was settled, with a lack of ceremony, in his embrace. Encircling her, his arms were bonds she stood no chance of breaking, and as if she understood that fact, she was immobile in his grasp. Small, yet defiant, she looked up at him, her eyes narrowed and challenging.
“Let me go, you big bully. The only man around here who’d dare put his hands on me is right in front of me,” she muttered, lips taut with anger, yet trembling.
“I’d never put a bruise on you,” he said quietly. Yet his fingers loosened their hold as he considered his grip. She was soft, her skin smooth beneath the cotton shirt she wore, but the muscles were there, beneath his hands, making their presence known as she wrenched from his grasp. And somehow, that feminine strength drew him, attracting him more than did her flashing blue eyes or the shapely form he’d held against himself.
Chloe backed away awkwardly, and stumbled. With one long step he was on her, taking hold anew, this time his arms circling her back, as he succumbed to temptation. His head bent low, seeking the soft, lush fullness of her mouth. She murmured beneath her breath as he found his mark, and he inhaled a hint of sweet tea.
“Don’t fight me, honey.” His voice was a rasping, grating sound he barely recognized, and his heart pounded forcefully as he felt soft curves brush against his chest. His tongue touched the tender surface of lips that moved tentatively against his, and a groan of satisfaction echoed from deep in his chest.
As if that sound triggered opposition to his will, her teeth clenched, refusing his entry, and she was, at once, a taut bundle of female resistance in his arms. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the firm outline of her mouth, and for now that was enough, he decided. Her flavor was delicate and he savored it as he inhaled the scent of woman that rose from her small, compact body.
Chloe tempted him mightily, but he’d been a fool to begin this in the middle of the tack room, with no time to spend wooing her to his cause. His lips gentled, soothing her as he suckled carefully at her lower lip.
She murmured then, relaxing against him, softening in his embrace, her hands lifting to press against his chest, fingers widespread. A soft hiccup of sound broke her breathing and he relented, his lips pressing once more against hers, tenderly easing from the intimacy he’d assumed without her consent.
“You’re not fair,” she said, her whisper harsh. “You know I can’t fight your strength.” Her eyes opened and the defiance was gone, tear-drenched lashes blinking as if she would conceal the emotion he’d brought to life. “I don’t have anything to compare this with,” she told him in a trembling voice, “but I’d say you’ve had a lot of experience at it.”
“At kissing?” he asked, tasting her flavor on his mouth. “A little, here and there. Not as much as most men, probably. I’m kinda fussy about women.”
“And you’ve decided I’m worth your attention?” She’d regained her composure now and her hands slid from his chest as he allowed his arms to lower, until his hands were at the small of her back. He held her in an easy embrace, and when she edged back, released her from his hold.
“I let you know the other night I was more than interested in you, Chloe. Having Tilly make such a blatant remark didn’t bother me nearly as much as it did you.” He stepped back from her, lifting her saddle easily with one hand. “You’re a good-lookin’ woman, and why you’re not already married is beyond me.”
“I’m not giving up my share of the ranch to anybody,” she said defiantly, her mouth taut as she vowed her independence. “Marriage would turn me into a mealymouthed creature fit only for having babies and keeping up a house.”
He laughed, unwilling to insult her, yet amused by the thought of Chloe being anything but what she was. “You’ll never be a mealymouthed woman, no matter what,” he said. “You’ve got too much spunk to let a man run roughshod over you.”
“Maybe so, but I’m smart enough to know I’d have a battle on my hands. I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, once I signed a marriage certificate,” she said sharply. “The law says that a man owns the property, and pretty much the woman who comes along with it. I’m not handing over my inheritance in exchange for a wedding ring.”
“Well, I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I?” He turned to the door, opening it and stepping across the threshold before she could form a reply. Better to keep her off guard, he decided.
Marriage hadn’t been in his plans, at least not for the next few years. But the idea of hauling a preacher out from town and putting a halter on Miss Chloe was starting to sound like a winner. Without half trying, she’d managed to get a grip on him that was becoming downright uncomfortable these days. Two kisses had only whet his appetite for another taste of her mouth, and she was spending more and more time at the back of his mind, keeping him on edge during the day and invading his dreams at night.
When he spoke again, he nonchalantly asked, “Which horse you planning on riding, Partner?”
“You’re not going to make a fuss about this?” she asked, hurrying to reach his side, the bridle and reins caught up in her hands.
“Not worth it,” he announced, as she halted before the stall where her tall, black mare was tied. “I need to be on my way, and short of tying you to a post, I don’t know of any way to persuade you to let me handle it on my own.”
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” she snapped, obviously fit for battle once more.
His hand sought out the currycomb hanging from the wall, and with a few strong, sweeping strokes, he cleaned the area where Chloe’s saddle would rest. “You got a blanket handy?” he asked, and watched as she snatched a heavy woolen square from a sawhorse. She snapped it sharply to remove the dust, then handed it to him. In moments it was in place and he swung her saddle atop the horse, looping the stirrup over the horn. His movements were quick, strong and practiced as he tightened the cinch and then backed the horse from its stall.
Chloe slid the bit in place, and the mare obligingly ducked her head as the bridle replaced her halter. J.T. followed her to where his stallion stood, tossing his head impatiently at the restriction of his reins tied to the handle of the barn door. The blood bay switched his tail, as if aware of the attention he drew. The mare passed him by and he whinnied, a shrill, sharp sound that drew little response from the black, but a quick grin from Chloe.
She mounted quickly, stepping up onto a block of wood apparently kept there for the purpose, and gathered