Kathleen Creighton - The Sheriff of Heartbreak County

“I guess I fell off, huh?” she said, answering her own question since he didn’t seem inclined to.

The thumbprints in his cheeks deepened, though it would have been a stretch to call the curve of his lips a smile. His hand gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Yeah, you did-wasn’t your fault, though.”

“I’ll say it wasn’t!” She struggled to sit up, but Roan’s hands kept her from it. “The…stupid horse just…took off. Why’d she do that? I didn’t tell her to.”

“Your horse took off because Susie Grace’s horse did. Herd instinct.” He was frowning as his hands roved quickly over her body…her arms, her legs. “All horses like to race-that one in particular. You hurt anywhere?”

“Everywhere,” she groaned, but it was a lie; nothing hurt now that he was touching her. Nothing had ever felt so good as those hard, gentle hands.

“Good-pain’s good. Means it’s not likely your neck’s broken.” He paused to tilt his head toward the dapple-gray mare, now placidly chomping a mouthful of grass a few feet away. “She used to be a barrel racer.”

“Susie Grace mentioned that.” Mary had lived in rodeo country long enough to know what barrel racing was. She’d just never realized what that meant. “How does something that big, moving that fast, stop so suddenly? ”

Roan’s frown relaxed, and his chuckle sounded warm, relieved. “That’s a quarter horse for you.” He sat back on his heels, one hand draped across his knee, and his eyes caressed her with a light that was like sunshine to growing things.

And like those growing things, she felt herself-not physically, but inside, her whole being-yearning toward him, being pulled to him, nourished by him.

What happens to growing things when the sun goes away?

She glared at his hand, angry with herself for wanting it not to be so far away. For wanting it touching her again.

“Nothing seems to be broken,” Roan said, smiling at her finally. “Guess you can get up now.”

“Thanks,” Mary muttered, lifting an arm to pillow her head, “but I’d just as soon stay right here.” The thought of getting back on that horse made her stomach turn over.

As if he’d read her mind, he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and said softly, “You’re gonna have to do it sometime, Miss Mary.”

She closed her eyes and stubbornly shook her head. The feel of his fingers on her cheek made her whole face ache. And her heart. How did I do this? How did I let this happen?

The ground under her had begun to shake again. She lifted her head and saw Susie Grace galloping toward them up the gentle slope, her blue cowboy hat bouncing against her back. Boyd was there, too, she saw now, sitting on his spotted Appaloosa horse a little way off, leaning on his saddlehorn, watching.

“Mary! Mary-are you all right?” Susie Grace yelled as she reined Tootsie to a jolting, jarring halt. “What happened? I didn’t see you. Did you fall off?”

“Stay right where you are, Missy.” Roan had risen to his feet, ominous as a thunderhead. He caught the red-gold mare’s bridle, patted her sweat-soaked neck and soothed her as she snorted and tossed her head. “What did you think you were doing? Haven’t Grampa and I both talked to you about running off like that?” His voice was as stern as Mary had ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” Susie Grace hunched her shoulders, looking small and contrite.

Roan didn’t soften an inch. “Sorry’s too late. Mary’s lucky she didn’t break her neck. What would you do if she had, Susan? Tell me that. Sorry isn’t gonna fix a broken neck.”

Susie Grace, whose face had been crumpling by degrees, opened her mouth and began to wail at the top of her lungs.

“That isn’t gonna help,” Roan said darkly, raising his voice over the noise. “You’re still gonna be grounded a good long while.” He looked over at Boyd and jerked his head toward the howling child. “You mind taking her back? Mary and I’ll be along in a while.”

Boyd clicked to his mare and made a “Come here” gesture with his head. “Come on with me, little bit. Quit bellerin’. This’s what happens when you don’t do what you’re told.”

Roan let go of Tootsie’s bridle and the mare trotted off after Boyd, tail switching, Susie Grace bouncing in the saddle, still wailing.

“She didn’t mean to hurt me,” Mary said as she watched them go, more upset from the child’s distress than her own fall.

“I know she didn’t.” Roan had scooped up the gray mare’s reins and was brushing her down, checking the cinch, adjusting the stirrups. “That’s not the point. She’s been told not to go running off like that, and she did it anyway. Showing off in front of you, I guess, I don’t know. But that’s no excuse for not minding.” He glanced at her, then quickly away, but not before she saw the pain-a parent’s anguish, she realized. She’d never thought before how hard it must be to discipline a beloved child. “Boyd and I are both pretty easy on her-maybe too easy. But when I do make a point to tell her not to do something, there’s generally a damn good reason for it.”

He gave the cinch a final tug, patted it flat, then turned to her and held out his hand. “Come on-up you get.”

He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes held something…a glowing warmth, a kindling promise…that made her inside yearn toward him even as her outside cringed away and her voice, dark and cracking with suspicion said, “Up where?”

He patted the saddle, the smile coming slowly, now, though still a little wry. “Everybody falls off a horse from time to time. Happens. When it does, what you do is get right back on.”

“Uh-uh.” She scrambled to her feet, ignoring his hand and trying not to moan as bruises and abused muscles screamed in outrage. “That’s what you’d do. I, on the other hand, have no intention of getting back on that horse-or any other horse-ever again, thank you very much.” She brushed at her rear and glared at him-which wasn’t easy, when he looked at her like that.

“How’re you gonna get back home?” His face now was serene, and he stood there smiling at her like some kind of cowboy angel, one hand on the back of the saddle, breezes riffling his hair and the sun glancing off it like tiny light-swords.

Her stomach went hollow, then hot. Juices pooled in her throat. “I’ll walk,” she said doggedly, standing her ground.

He chuckled. Mary sucked in a breath and drew herself up, bolstered, now, by both anger and pride. She peeled a wind-blown lock of hair away from her mouth, then shaded her eyes with her hand. “It’s that way, right?”

His laughter was soft as his hand snaked out and caught her arm before she could take the first step…though to be truthful, had she really wanted to? He pulled her to him gently, and her heart began to knock so fiercely against her ribs she could hardly breathe. He captured her face in one big hand; his fingers stroked her hair away from her forehead, his thumb lightly grazed her lips, which parted helplessly under his touch. Her lips felt swollen…hot, as if they’d been stung.

“I’m not getting on that horse,” she mumbled.

“Ah, Miss Mary…” His soft growl vibrated deep inside her, seemed to fill all the spaces inside her…like a cat’s purr, and between the words he paused to touch warm smooth lips to her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose and her chin. “Who’d have thought…you could be…so contrary?”

She whimpered helplessly, already lost. Then…he took her mouth. Not roughly, not greedily, just…completely. His arms came around her, and his body was hard against her breasts, and his mouth was inside and outside…everywhere. It felt warm and fierce…but gentle, too…warm and sweet and good. It didn’t feel like being lost, at all. It felt like coming home.