The Littlest Cowboy (14 page)

Garrett looked torn. For some reason, he didn’t want to leave his brothers out here alone. Was he worried about the jumpy cows? From the wary look in his eyes, Chelsea thought his concern lay elsewhere. With the stranger. Why?

He glanced at Chelsea again.

“I can make it back on my own, Garrett. You don’t have to–”

“No. Not alone.” His forefinger lazily brushed her cheek, and she wondered if there was a bruise forming there already. It felt as if there was. “I’ll take you back.”

He went over to Wes, who stood a bit away from the rest of them, just watching them all with those sharp, probing black eyes of his. Wes inclined his head as Garrett spoke softly. Then nodded. Lash, meanwhile, had ridden over to Elliot and was conversing with him. The slip of paper blew closer to Chelsea’s feet, and she bent to pick it up, turning toward the stranger.

But Garrett came back to her at that moment, and without warning, he put his arms around her and scooped her right off her feet. He settled her in Duke’s saddle, then swung up behind her. One arm came snugly around, her waist. He touched the stallion’s sides, and the horse took off at a brisk walk, back the way they’d come. Chelsea sighed in resignation and glanced at the name and address on the scrap of paper before stuffing it into her jeans pocket and vowing to return it to its owner later on.

C
attle did not stand around chewing peacefully one minute, then stampede the next. Garrett knew that. He’d only witnessed one stampede in his life and he’d been in the ranching business forever. It was rare. It didn’t just happen.

Something had spooked those cattle. And spooked them in the direction he and Chelsea had taken. Garrett couldn’t convince himself it was a coincidence. Especially after that odd phone call last night. And that the appearance of this stranger–this
Lash–
at the same time could just be happenstance was too much to swallow.

Somebody wanted Chelsea Brennan dead. The voice on the phone had identified that somebody as Vincent de Lorean, a man as evil as Satan himself. And then she’d nearly been trampled to death. All within twenty-four hours.

No way could he have let her return to the house alone. And he couldn’t trust her safety to his brothers. He had to see to it himself. Much as he disliked leaving Elliot and Wes out there with a stranger who might or might not be involved in all this, he’d had little choice. So he’d warned Wes about his suspicions. Wes could handle himself. Hell, Wes could handle himself and any six fighting men. He’d be all right.

Duke gave a little leap when he came out of the stream and started up the slight incline of the bank. Chelsea’s bottom bounced down on the saddle, and she gave a little squeak of pain. Dammit, she was hurt, much as she might deny it.

“Don’t sit so stiff,” he instructed. “Just relax against me, and it won’t hurt so much.” He punctuated his advice by pulling her back closer to his chest. Her buttocks rocked between his legs, rubbing him in all the right places. Dammit, he should have left well enough alone.

No, he shouldn’t. She leaned her head back against him. Oh, did he like that. He opened his palm on her belly. His hand itched to creep up higher. To cup her soft breasts, and squeeze them. His lips itched to kiss her. Her smooth-skinned neck was looking more tempting with every step Duke took.

“Why were you so suspicious of that man?” she asked softly.

Garrett clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that the stampede had been an attempt on her life. He was afraid that knowledge would send her running scared. And if she ran, how the hell could he protect her?

“I don’t like strangers nosing around,” he tried.

“You took me in. Let me stay.
I’m
a stranger.”

Garrett never had been any good at subterfuge. “You’re a sight prettier than Lash is.”

“Be honest with me, Garrett.” As she said it, she turned her head so she could look up into his eyes. Her green ones searched and dug into his. Into his heart, too.

“I am being honest. You really
are
prettier.”

She frowned at him.

“Okay,” he said slowly, wondering how little he could get away with revealing. “We want it kept quiet that you’re here, right? Why broadcast it to some drifter?”

She nodded, licked her lips. He ached to do the same. “So you really think Ethan’s father will come after him if he finds out where we are?”

“He might. But–” Garrett cut himself off in mid-sentence as he was sharply, painfully reminded of Vincent de Lorean’s other objective. His son. And Bubba was currently alone in the house with Jessi.

He tightened his grip on Chelsea. “Sorry about this, darlin’. Hold on.” He kicked Duke’s sides, and the horse obeyed instantly, beginning to gallop at a speed Garrett hoped wouldn’t send more spasms of pain through Chelsea’s slender, bruised body.

W
hen he jumped off Duke’s back and ran up the front steps, leaving Chelsea sitting alone on a horse the size of a small elephant, she mentally cussed him.

But he only made it as far as the screen door. One look inside and his frown lines eased into a smile. “Everything okay here, Jessi?”

“Sure. Fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason.” Garrett turned around, smiling. But his smile died when he saw Chelsea glaring at him from the saddle. “Sorry,” he muttered, and came back to her, put his hands on her waist and lifted her down.

She shook her head. “You’re crazy, Garrett Brand. What were you trying to do, making that mastodon run with me on his back? Kill me?’’

“Course not. Hey, I just got worried about Jess and Bubba, is all.”

“His
name
is Ethan, you big lug.”

He opened his mouth.

“And why would you suddenly get so worried that you had to race all the way back here and scramble my insides in the process?” She poked him with a forefinger. “You are keeping something from me. Something about that stampede, and that stranger, and–”

“Stampede?” The screen door squeaked and Jessi stepped outside, Ethan anchored on her hip. “What stampede?”

“The one that almost killed us,” Chelsea replied, still glaring at Garrett.

“Now, it wasn’t that bad. Don’t look like that, Jessi. Everything’s fine. No one was hurt.”

Jessi’s gaze dipped to Garrett’s torn and bloodied shirtsleeve. “Liar. Look at you! And you, too, Chelsea! What in all hell happened out there?”

“Watch your mouth,” Garrett told her.

“I will not watch my mouth.” She pouted, then shook her head. “Ah, get in here, both of you, and let me have a look. And while I’m looking, Garrett Ethan Brand, you better tell me what this is all about!” She spun around and slammed back into the house.

Chelsea took the first step, but Garrett gripped her shoulder gently, stopping her. “Wait.”

She sighed, but turned to face him.

“Before all that craziness out there, Chelsea…something was…happening…between you and me.”

She lowered her head. Something
had
been happening. Something that had been dizzying and wonderful at the time. But in hindsight, it scared the hell out of her.

“It’s just as well we were interrupted,” she whispered, but the words were coming hard.

“I have to disagree with you there.”

She forced her head up and tried to hold on to his gaze, but couldn’t. She had to look away again. “I’m not ready for anything like this. I don’t
want
anything like this.”

“Like what? Hell, Chelsea, I’m still trying to figure out what
this
is.”

“It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t have happened, and it’s over. Let’s just forget about it.”

“I’m not real sure I can do that. Forget it, I mean.” He searched her face, trying to smile, but it was bitter, and she thought maybe she’d hurt this big, gentle man.

But she barely knew him, after all. His gentleness could fade as fast as the sun when a storm cloud rolls in. He could turn out to be as dangerous as her father had been. And she’d decided a long time ago that she would never trust any man long enough to find out. She would never fall in love. Besides, just because this man was physically attracted to her didn’t mean he
felt
anything for her, so she was way ahead of herself anyway.

“It will be easier once Ethan and I are gone,” she said.

His lips thinned. He seemed a little desperate and maybe at a loss for words. “I don’t….”

“What?”

He lowered his head. “I don’t want you to go, Chelsea.”

She stared at him in surprise and more than a little confusion. What was he saying? He barely knew her, had only kissed her once, for God’s sake. Well, okay, twice. How could he stand there and say–

“Will you two get in here already?” Jessi called.

“What do you mean, you don’t want me to go? What do you want me to do, quit my job, give up my apartment and stay here? For a fling, Garrett? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t do flings.”

She turned away and marched up the steps and across the porch. But as she went, she heard his voice following her.

“Neither do I, Chelsea Brennan. Neither do I.”

M
aybe one of those stupid cows had stomped on her head. That must be it. Maybe she had a concussion or brain damage or something. Or maybe Garrett did. Because she could have sworn the man she’d actually begun to see as some kind of big, honorable, gentle-as-a-teddy bear kind of guy had just propositioned her. Suggested she hang out at the ranch for a while, his meaning glimmering clearly in those formerly harmless brown eyes. He wanted her, the jerk. And he thought she was willing to put out. All on the basis of a couple of innocent kisses!

Man, his ego must be as big as he was!

She tried to hurry through the kitchen and dining room, straight on into the living room and up the stairway, but winced with every single step. It hurt, dammit. Him and his hormones! She should have known all along he only had one thing on his mind. Why hadn’t she seen it coming? He’d probably only stopped the stupid horses so he could paw her, not so she could rest. And it was only just now occurring to her how utterly stupid she’d been to go along on that ride in the first place. Putting herself out of sight and shouting distance of anyone. Putting herself alone within reach of a man. Even this man. Because they were all the same underneath. Hadn’t she learned anything?

A hot bath, she thought as she started up the stairs. It hurt to flex her thighs, and she grimaced. A long, hot bath. She tried envisioning it to get her up the next step. Her back screamed in protest. Steam, rolling off the water, she thought determinedly. Scented water. Hot, steamy, scented water and– She sucked air through her teeth at a new jab in her side. “Dammit!”

Big, strong arms swept under her, lifting her like a knight lifting a damsel in a fairy tale. Well, she was no damsel, and this horny lug was no knight. There were no such things as knights. Not even in Texas.

“Put me down.”

“Not on your life, lady. Don’t worry. I won’t trouble you with my presence any longer than it takes to drop you on your bed.”

“Drop me at my door, Hulk. I don’t trust you anywhere near my bed.”

Garrett took the stairs at a brisk pace. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with you, woman.”

“You want me to stay for what, then? My sparkling wit? My charm and sweetness?”

“What sweetness? You’re as sour as a barrel of pickles.” He set her on her feet, opened the bedroom door and waved a hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“I won’t be here later.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” She slammed the door. Leaning shakily against it, she closed her eyes hard in an effort to fight the fragile whisper of doubt that flitted through her mind, trying to make her wonder if maybe she’d jumped to the wrong conclusions about Garrett. But, hell, he’d been so uncharacteristically sweet–for a male–to her ever since she’d arrived. And now that she thought she knew the reason–that he was hoping for some easy sex–it made perfect sense.

Didn’t it?

She groaned softly and hoped to God she was right. If she wasn’t, she’d just made a total fool out of herself. She walked into the little bathroom, depressed the tub’s plunger and turned on the hot water. They’d moved her into the guest room where the baby had taken up residence, apparently having decided she could be trusted around her own flesh and blood.