With This Ring (Denim & Spurs Book 1) (21 page)

“Can’t put this off anymore.” She went to his left front and began filing it down. By the time she finished all she could do for him at the moment, the lights had come on and the temperature had dropped considerably.

“You’re still here?”

“Hey, Mike.” The owner of the rescue walked up, bundled up as she was against the elements. “Yes, this one took a lot longer than I anticipated. I think he’s about had his limit so I need to stop. I’ll leave him with some protective boots on his feet until I can come back out and get him shoed. He’s just put up with a lot today, and I don’t want to traumatize him any more than I have to.”

“You’re a saint, Finn,” he said, patting the old gelding. “Are you sure I can’t pay you for this?”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of me doing it for free if you pay me, Mike. Don’t worry about it. It was well worth my time. Besides, you have more important things to put that money to use on. You have to feed these guys.”

It didn’t take her long to put the boots on the brown gelding. Once she was done, Mike took him to a stall and fed him. She gathered up some things and took them to her truck before starting it, to warm up. A few more trips and she was all packed. Every inch of her ached, and she longed for a hot shower.

“You got plans for the upcoming holiday?” he asked as he escorted her the final time to her truck.

“I’m having my dad come up. Why?”
Hopefully he’ll come up, but this weather isn’t going to sell him on a visit.

“We’re having a small celebration here since it also marks our five years of being here and doing what we do. If you’re free we’d love to have you. Bring your dad. Not a problem.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Mike, thank you.”

“No, thank you, Finn.”

She smiled. “Not a problem. I’ll call you early next week and set up a time to come back and finish him up.”

They shook hands, and she hopped in her truck, grateful for the warmth, which permeated the icy coating she had all over her. Shrugging out of her jacket, she turned up the heaters and groaned in relief. She allowed herself a few moments then put the truck in gear and got on her way.

Back at Cypress Sky Farms, she headed to her place and made a beeline for the shower. Finally clean and warm, she stepped from the bathroom dressed in flannel bottoms and a sweatshirt. Thick wool socks covered her feet, and she went to her kitchen where she whipped up a quick dinner of barbecue.

Seated on her loveseat, a quilt over her legs, she opened a book and started to read. She’d wanted to read this one for a while now but hadn’t had the time. When she woke two hours later, still on page one, she realized she still didn’t have the energy. After she folded up the blanket, she made her way the short distance to her bed and crawled eagerly beneath the covers.

The next day she finished re-shoeing Gerda’s horse and had just turned him back out when she heard someone call her name.

Rotating around, she watched as Rolf and Gunnar walked into view. She latched the fence and tugged up her gloves.

“You called?” she asked.

“You have a visitor,” Gunnar announced, a strange gleam in his eyes.

“Is it Mike? I told him I’d call him next week but maybe something came up? I’ve not had my phone on me all day.”

“Nope, not Mike.” Rolf crossed his arms, looking not the least perturbed by the cold weather. Not that Gunnar did either. Perhaps it was just her who felt colder than usual.

“Okay, who is it then? I just finished Gerda’s horse so I can meet with them.” It wasn’t totally unusual for local barns to come seek her out, and unlike some farriers she didn’t mind going out to take care of only one horse.

“Who’s Mike?”

She’d turned back to double-check the latch had been engaged and froze at the sound of that Texas drawl. Time crawled and she couldn’t quite get her breathing or heart rate to calm down.
Surely I am hearing things.

“Samantha?”

Nope, not hearing things. Gulping, she turned, locking all emotion away in a large, dark cave, and faced the man who belonged to that voice of sin. Dustin Kane. Her knees went weak and her palms began sweating. She fought the need to curl her fingers into her palms.

“Dustin,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t fair for him to look so delicious. Facing him, she realized how lacking her imagination had been with its creation of him. She bit her lower lip trying to contain her whimper of lust. That’s what it had to be, right? Lust. She couldn’t possibly… Why even continue that line of thinking, she knew well what it was.

He ran his fingers along the brim of his black Stetson, slightly adjusting it. She trailed her gaze along his frame with his wide shoulders that seemed able to hold everything up, down along lean hips and over his muscled thighs. Sure, the trench he wore kind of hampered her view, but she knew firsthand what he looked like and it wasn’t something she would be forgetting so long as her memory remained intact.

The collar of his coat turned up, and snow dotted the inky blackness of the leather. She glanced at Rolf and his son before returning her attention to the man who stood a head above them. They looked like swimmers with their lean bodies next to Dustin.

“Who’s Mike?” he asked again, striding toward her, pausing when the toes of his worn black cowboy boots touched the toes of her Justin work boots. His blue eyes gleamed at her, and she fought the butterflies in her stomach.

“H…he owns Equine Haven.”

“Which is?”

“Just as it sounds, a rescue. What are you doing here?”

“Taking you home,” Dustin said.

A fist seized her heart. “My father?”

He moved some of her hair back with a black
-gloved hand. “Fine last I knew. Can we go talk somewhere?”

“Why would you be here if…” She turned to Rolf. “Did you need anything else from me?”

The man grinned even though his son scowled. “Go on. Good to meet you, Mr. Kane.”

“And you, Mr. Torkjelson.” Dustin put his gaze back on her. “Lead the way.”

She muttered her farewell to the other two in Norwegian and led the way to her small apartment. The snow fell thick and fast by the time they made it, and she pushed inside the warm space. She’d managed to pull one glove off before he wheeled her around, spun them so she was between him and the door, and slammed his mouth over hers.

Her legs shook and she gripped onto him, the leather of his coat, cold beneath her bare hand. It didn’t matter. He smelled of leather, horse, and a scent she simply labeled “Dustin Kane” for nothing else created it. A perfect blend of outdoors, man, and his own scent.

His tongue thrust into the depths of her mouth, and she whimpered as one hand curved about the nape of her neck, possessively anchoring her to him. His other hand cupped her ass, drawing her near enough to feel the hard ridge in his jeans. Wetness flooded her and she reached up, looping her arms around his neck, knocking his Stetson from his head, and sank her fingers into the cold silken strands of his hair.

“Samantha,” he rumbled against her lips.

Coldness poured over her and she released him. His larger body still blocked her in but at least she wasn’t draped all over him like a whore. She cleared her throat and tried all manner of things to not think about how amazing it had been being back in his embrace.

“What are you doing here, Dustin?”

Shower. Food. Change of clothing. Oh yes, a shower would be nice. A long, hot, and soapy shower with…nope, not going there. She ducked under his arm and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on its hook.

He turned and leaned against the door he’d just had her pinned against. His gaze remaining as sharp and burning as before. One finger at a time, he removed his black leather gloves, never taking his attention from her. Lord help her, it shouldn’t turn her on so much, watching such a thing.
Yet it does, so what does that say about the type of person I am? Apparently horny.

“Planning on answering me?”

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

He removed his black duster, and she bit back a whimper. It truly wasn’t fair for a man to look so damn good. His hat he hung on the same hook he’d put his coat.

She finished taking off her own outerwear and did her best to ignore the mouthwatering specimen who took up most of the air in her small apartment. Or was it just her he made lightheaded? Either way, things weren’t good in her world for getting oxygen to the brain.

“I’ve been working,” she replied.

He cocked a brow. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

She narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms, warm and fuzzy feelings vanishing quicker than her warmth the moment she stepped outside. “Be careful, Dustin Kane. I realize while not a cutter like you or part of a huge ranch like the Diamond J, you may think my work small and inconsequential. But I won’t stand here and let you degrade what I do.”

He took two steps toward her, and she fought not to retreat the same amount.

“I’m not degrading what you do. I’m talking about the way those men out there look at you.”

She blinked a few times. “Rolf and Gunnar? Really? Rolf’s a happily married man and…eww, Gunnar is barely eighteen.” She waved him off. “Tell me what you’re doing here and make it fast, my day isn’t over yet.”

He pulled out a chair and sat as if he had all the time in the world. Irritation spiked along her spine. Dustin gave her a smile she’d seen on his face all the time in high school. One that bespoke he knew his effect on those of the opposite sex. Heck, perhaps even some of the same. Normally it would have worked on her but today, not so much.

“Come here.”

Damn man even crooked his finger at her. “Really? You think that’s going to work? What do you want, Dustin?”

Chapter Thirteen

Dustin stared at Samantha. This wasn’t how he’d pictured their reunion playing out. Oh heck no. He’d envisioned lack of clothing, limbs entwined, and the nearest surface either of them could get to. Not this. Not her watching him with anger brewing—with increasing increments—in her beautiful brown eyes.

What did he want? Couldn’t she figure that out? Hell, he’d come all this way for her.

“Come home.”

She shifted slightly in her seat, the only indication the words hit a nerve. “I
am
home.”

He glanced about her small apartment. It wasn’t bad and she’d made it her place with the decorations but compared to how their things were in Texas, this was like a cardboard box for space.

“No, this isn’t you.” He stood and gestured around. “Living like this. Such a cramped area. I’m not buying it, Samantha.”

She ground her jaw, and he knew she strove for control. “I’m sorry your opinion of me doesn’t live up to your own expectations, Dustin. Let’s face it, you know nothing of me.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he paused. “Or yourself. We both know I know a lot of you.”

“One weekend in the sack doesn’t mean a damn thing in the grand scheme of things and you well know it.” Lightning flickered in her gaze, warning him of the impending storm.

That grated and he didn’t care she was getting angry, at least there was some emotion there instead of nothing. He leaned forward, resting his palms on the small table. “Do I? I think the question is do you really believe it?”

“You didn’t come across the country to play semantics with me, did you?”

“Hitting close to home?” He leaned back.

“No.” She glanced at her nails. “Just because you’ve had me in your bed for a few days doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me.”

“It wasn’t just in the bed, Samantha. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” He spoke with that deep rumble he knew made her toes curl. Tilting his head to the side, he observed her. “There was the sofa, the countertops, the bathroom, and the wall.” He tapped the stubble on his face. “I’m pretty sure I also remember your legs around me in the backseat of my truck, screaming my name.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You came all this way to get your ego stoked?” A heartless chuckle. “Hate to break it to you, hotshot, but a name’s a name.”

Red-hot fury surged through him at the mere thought of another man’s hands—or other body parts—on her. Back in the dark recesses of his mind he knew she was pushing his buttons but the logical part wasn’t heeding anything, currently.

He clenched his hands into fists and struggled to breathe calmly. “You’re right,” he pushed out from behind his locked jaw. “A name’s just a name.” His left eyebrow rose. “However, given it was in
my
truck, with
my
cock inside you, and
my
name on your lips, I think it’s a bit more telling.”

Her nostrils flared. “Not denying we slept together. Just sayin’ a name’s a name. Judd Travers is a name as well.”

Had it been anyone else’s name from her lips, he would have been a bit better about it but Judd. There was something about the man Dustin wanted nowhere near his woman. Yes,
his.

“The day that man lays a hand on you, darlin’, is the day he takes his last breath.”

“I have every right to talk to him if I so choose.”